Drum roll, please!
His name should be Dolemite, but for some strange reason Mrs. B is opposed to that. She's also opposed to Black Caesar, Black Belt Jones and Shaft. And since he's a he, he can't be Foxy Brown. I mean, he could be C. Boogie Brown. But Mrs. B is also opposed to that. She calls him Leo. So I guess I'll call him Leo too.
Leo is an 8 month old Black Lab, and in spite of the white streak down his chest they tell us he's a pure lab (not that that matters; we'd have gladly taken a mutt). Apparently, "they" say, some Labs have that streak. The only thing it would prevent is him being shown at dog shows. And that doesn't matter, 'cause I may be a geek, but I don't see myself getting nerded up to that degree and parading around a ring at the Westminster Kennel Club.
So here's Leo's back story: Some of you know that a few weeks ago we lost our awesome, faithful dog, Cheko. He was 14-and-a-half, and might have lived longer had he not succumbed to a vet-prescribed arthritis medication that sent him into a tailspin.
Initially we wanted a dog just like Cheko, a herder. He was a Border Collie and Australian Cattle Dog mix. We wanted either of those breeds or a mix of 'em again, or maybe an Australian Shepherd, or an Aussie mixed with one of those first two breeds. Our logic was simple. They're very intelligent dogs, maybe the most intelligent dogs. And a new one would remind us of Cheko.
But as we searched local animal shelters, and the Humane Society, we found they were tough to come by. So we reached out to rescue farms in other parts of Florida, whose sole purpose is to take in dogs of those specific breeds, nurse 'em back to health, etc., and then adopt 'em out.
Well, we were all set to drive a few hundred miles to get one of these dogs, and Mrs. B - credit where it's due - felt pangs of guilt, because she recalled that Cheko had been rescued. If you don't know that story, you can read it here. Anyway, she correctly reasoned that the dogs at these rescue farms already had good homes. They were pretty much all living in foster homes, and there was zero chance any of them would ever end up in a cage at a crowded shelter somewhere.
Even if it meant missing out on the breed we wanted, Mrs. B argued that it would better honor Cheko's memory if we rescued another dog. So we set aside our breed wish list and went to the local dog pound AKA Miami-Dade County Animal Services. We went there to meet a Golden Retriever stray that we'd seen online. But the retriever's owner had surfaced by the time we arrived. And essentially on the way out, we stumbled across Leo. He's not a herder. But that's OK. He's a cool dog, and he needed a home. And it's clear that whoever surrendered him to the pound took care of him, 'cause even though we just brought him home last night, Leo seems to know how to behave indoors. He's frisky. But that's to be expected. He's still a puppy, really. And look at the size of his paws. He's gonna be huge!
So that's that.
Moving right along, I'll be posting from the road the rest of this week. At the conclusion of business today I'm on the way to Chicago for a conference. If you're in Chicagoland shoot me a note.
Otherwise, peace and hair grease, till my next post.