WOOF WOOF! So, a little while back around March or April time, my partner and I happened across this little monster (the dog, not the cat (also a monster)). The happening upon came almost immediately after both agreeing that we were going to wait at least a year to get a dog, as is, apparently, usually the case.
We both actually came across Willow separately, but at the same time. I was at work, and just happened to see her picture on a dog rescue page, and then when I got home, my partner said he’d seen a dog online, and showed me the picture. It was the same dog, and on the same page. Willow. It was instant love. It was immediate, and we didn’t even know her.
Within two hours, a deposit was paid, to a rescue centre we’d never been to, and over a hundred miles away. We rushed up to meet her a week later, already k
nowing she was the dog for us. The day we met her, she was terrified. She’d spent almost no time with or around people, and it was heartbreaking. If we could have had her home that day, we would, but the rules are the rules and we had to wait for a home check.
So we returned home, and passed the home check the following week. Another week later and we finally picked her up. And then she was home. We’d (or I, at least) had decided she wasn’t allowed on the sofa. The first thing little, shy, scared Willow did was get on the sofa. I rationalised that it was all new to her, and one day on the sofa wouldn’t hurt anyone. One day has turned in to eight months. The sofa is Willow’s. She has her own spot; all of it.
Her first weeks at home weren’t great, but that’s expected. The housetraining went faster than expected. She’s never barked. But the nerves; poor Willow was so scared, and for a little while we worried that maybe we wouldn’t be the right home for her.
That didn’t last for long. She came out of her shell faster and faster. From day one, she’s loved playing with other small dogs; big dogs scare her; unless you’re a Rottweiler. We’ve never quite figured it out, but Willow has a complete, trusting love for Rottweilers; sometimes I wonder if it’s because she was the same colouring? It doesn’t matter. Rottweilers mean playtime to Willow.
When Willow arrived home, we had one antisocial cat, Luna, who at first gave Willow plenty of space. Another cat, Myrtle, arrived just a few days after Willow, and within a week they were friends (see picture above). Before us, we’re not sure Willow had ever met a cat, but that hasn’t mattered. They don’t bother her. In fact, Willow thinks all cats are friends (they aren’t).
We don’t have a clue what breed Willow is, so on walks I often tell people that she is a Romanian Terrier. Funnily (to me, at least), it rarely gets questioned. I can’t help but imagine some poor, dear old lady phoning up a rescue centre, asking for more information on Romanian Terriers.
It doesn’t matter what breed Willow is, though. None of that really matters. We never set out for anything in particular. We fell in love with her ears, and it grew from there.
Now, she sleeps on the bed, sits on the sofa and can’t help but check out what’s on the kitchen surface the moment a backs turned. Of course, she has her quirks; you must not stand behind her, and Willow isn’t a fan of being on her back (unless she’s sleeping). She prefers pooping in the middle of the road, and she has to investigate every single puddle on a rainy day.
What more could you want from a dog?