(Kim's very cool IG weathervane.)Kim B. (full name left out for her privacy), the somewhat local breeder we'd been corresponding with, was a breath of fresh air from the uncaring puppy mill types I mentioned in my last post. Over the course of our first phone call, she gave me an earful of dos and don'ts, cautioned me against having an IG for a first dog, and gave me a laundry list of things I would need should I decide to get one regardless.
(The pups in their pen, too fast to get a good photo of! Our boy is the one with the large white collar at upper right.)Kim had just had her first litter in two years (bred from two of her champs), and had only done so because she wanted a few more girls for herself. Now, when the breeder is breeding for herself and not for profit, that's usually a good sign, so I was excited. She asked if I wanted a boy or a girl and I told her we were hoping for a boy but either would do. She said I was in luck, as there was one boy in her litter of four, and he was the only pup available (two red+white girls were staying home, and a seal female already had a home set).
(One of the pretty little girls who will be staying home.)We made plans to drive from SF to Fresno two weeks from that call to see the pup, as well as an older male IG who already had a championship under his belt. While we waited, I pestered Kim for pictures, but she'd been too busy with family to send me any - "I can only assure you that you won't be unhappy. This litter is very lovely and is not pet quality so you will be very pleased with what you find," she said in an e-mail. And she was right.
(Lovely little seal girl who was already spoken for.)Visiting with the pups was my idea of heaven. My partner Jeff and I got to sit in a fenced-off room as the little ones were freed from the pen and all four instantly attacked me with kisses. (I think they could smell that I was a big pushover.) Just as Kim said, the boy pup was bigger than the other three, and seemed a little mellower but still eager to play. We loved his temperament and markings instantly.
(Our pup on the way home.)We attempted to meet the older dog, but he refused to come out of his pen -- it was just as well, Jeff and I were goners for that little boy pup. After a helpful tooth and nail demo, we signed the papers and Kim sent us off with a collar, leash, bully stick, bag 'o kibble and and a fleece puppy sweater. We loaded him into the kennel we'd purchased and drove off with puppy names on the brain. They'd dubbed him "Walker" (short for "Walk Like A Man") but I wanted something close to "Moxley" after an investigative reporter friend and all-around mischievous character. "Moxie" was the compromise.
(Mox in the kitchen.)When we got home, we set him up in the kitchen, which is the only part of the apartment without carpeting. Mox inspected the litter box (which he quickly learned to use to our delight!), had some kibble and was well-behaved till we left him to go to bed. Poor baby cried all night long. At around 3 a.m. I decided I couldn't take it, and climbed into the kitchen where I slept with him in fetal position on the floor for a few hours. Eventually, I moved him too the couch (which was better for my poor back!) and we dozed off. Jeff found me knocked out cold with Mox snoozing across my neck a little later.
(Mox in a down blanket on the couch.)I know spoiling him from the start probably wasn't the best idea, but I think it won him over. He's been like glue ever since.
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