“I love Bennie, but I never want another dog. I can’t handle that again.” That’s what I said about 2 weeks before we got “the call”.
My dog sitter called and told me she had a client that needed to re-home their fluffy Frenchie because of an upcoming move to the desert. And she immediately thought of us because we already had Bennie and knew exactly what we were getting into. I told her that I really wasn’t interested in getting another dog. So she sent me pictures of Blue. SO RUDE! That face. Those eyes. That werewolf-crazy-look. How could I possibly say no??
We agreed to meet with Blue’s current hoomans at the dog sitters house for a meet and greet, potentially to be followed by an overnight trial run. He had to check three boxes: good with Bennie, good with the cats, good with the kids. There was no way he could check all three, right? RIGHT?!?!? But he did. And we ended up keeping him.
That first night, we realized that Blue had likely been at-minimum… neglected. The poor guy came to us in a cat carrier. A CAT CARRIER. For a 40-pound Frenchie. They said it was the only one they could use because he would pee in anything bigger anytime they tried. I’m convinced they only tried when he was a tiny pup that wasn’t housebroken yet, because he had exactly one accident with us. On night one. When he didn’t yet know how to tell us he needed to go outside. He cowered, clearly scared, but Ken didn’t freak out. He just told him it was okay, showed him the bell once, and he never peed inside again. We had appropriately-sized crates for Bennie, and Blue got to borrow one until a new one came in for him. That first night, Blue got… violent? With the cat carrier. He very obviously was not about to go back in that thing. And we knew we could never send him back to them. It turns out, Blue was used to spending 18+ hours in that cat carrier EVERYDAY. It was horrible.
He came to us in a cat carrier, wearing a Gucci collar. If that doesn’t tell you everything you needed to know, I don’t know what will. He never once showed any signs of abandonment or separation anxiety. He was just… home.
About 3-4 weeks after he came to us, he suddenly started screaming. It was the most horrible sound I’ve ever heard. That sound will haunt my nightmares for the rest of my life. We immediately rushed him to the vet. They took x-rays and found that he had several deformed vertebrae and a fused tail. The poor guy was in so much pain. Crate rest, 2 weeks minimum. But how could we make him stay in a crate for 2 weeks after he had just been freed from 18+ hour days while healthy? We couldn’t. So we separated Blue & Bennie instead. They could still see/smell each other, but not play. Blue had the run of Ken’s office, and Bennie had the rest of the ground floor. They were clearly not happy about the separation, but seemed to be resigned to it. After a few weeks and several vet visits, we still didn’t have answers – it might be canine meningitis, it might be the early stages of IVDD. IVDD is a terrible spinal condition that afflicts many Frenchies – it requires surgery and a lot of money. Ken also has chronic back pain, so he was very sympathetic and figured out the best way to hold Blue to take some of the pressure off his spine. Blue would start screaming and you could see his eyes sweeping the room looking for Ken. He’d find him and try to make it over to him, but Ken always came over and held him through the flareup. They bonded over mutual back pain in a way that could never come from anything else.
Now, Blue runs and plays with Bennie. They’re best of friends – they share a crate at night (more than big enough for both of them), sleep on top of each other in a pile-o-pig, and Bennie can often be found under Blue’s butt. Because Blue is ALWAYS putting his butt on someone lol.
Blue stole my glasses and tried to eat them once. And the yarn I was using for a crochet project. And anything else he can get his teeth on. He’s SO naughty. But he’s ours. And he’s safe. And happy. And that’s really all you can ask for, right?
He came to us as a mistreated trophy dog. He stayed as family. And somewhere between a Gucci collar and my destroyed glasses, he became what he was always meant to be. Ken’s best friend.
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