You don’t come across a dog named Froggy very often. You don’t find a dog like Froggy very often either. You should be sighing with relief right now, trust me. We tried to call him Scooby but it just wouldn’t stick.
Froggy was a rescue. After my miniature Eskimo, Apollo, passed I cried for weeks. My 19 year old son, living at home, said, “you need another dog but let’s get a real dog this time. A dog for me.” Why are small dogs always considered foo foo dogs? Apollo wasn’t.
So after looking under every stone in a 50 mile radius for the perfect “real” dog, we found Froggy waiting for his forever home at a horse farm. Six months old, shy and about 40 pounds with long lanky legs. I was told he was a Lab/Doberman mix. Six months later, after doing some research, I came to the conclusion Froggy was a Vizsla mix. Vizslas are bred in Hungry as hunting dogs. They have neither body odor nor doggy breath. But they love to chew, play and run…and run some more.
Froggy was hell on wheels. Nothing in the house was sacred. Pillows, shoes and usually leather ones, sheets, underwear. And bark? Froggy barked at, not only the neighbors, squirrels and birds, he barked at smells on the wind. He had a nose like no other I had ever seen.
And he could run. If he had half a chance out the cat door in the back of the house or any door wide enough for him to slip through he would go, and straight to the muck pond across the street or the marsh and creek 100 yards away.
Screaming at him was not necessary because he never looked back. But when he did come home, it was always the same scenario….black muck crusted from his paws up to his neck.
And then my son moved to his Dad’s…..without the dog.
Now, I was raised that if you had a pet it was your pet for the rest of its life. I already had 3 cats ages 14, 9 and 18! The dog had been home with me more, granted, so we were tight but this dog was his!
I emailed the lady whom had rescued him quite often. I emailed the lady whom had rescued him quite often. Usually it was “This dog is going to be the death of me”, or “If you come across anyone who might take Froggy let me know”. But then, after I calmed down from the last Froggy drama and I would send her a note and say “never mind”.
He burrowed deeper and deeper into my heart but he did acquire several nicknames such as Frogzilla, ADD dog, and of course, Damit.
He also had his special days I came to call Froggy Days. Such as the day I came home and most of the love seat had been chewed up and scattered across the floor with the wood frame still in tact. Or the day I came from work to find my feather pillow contents covering every room. You would have thought some kind of religious sacrifice had taken place. It took me months to get all the feathers that must have floated for hours with assistance from the ceiling fans left on all day.
Over the next two years and about 60 more pounds, Froggy started to settle down. He was still known to pull me off my feet dragging me across the vacant lot next door to chase a cat, but his chewing was limited to mostly cheap pillows I now bought 4 at a time. His Nyla bones saved most everything else. I went through about as much money buying “dog resistant” toys that he couldn’t chew up…until he was ready, then it would be found in a pile usually done in one sitting.
At 3 years old Froggy is my best mate. We’ve had some special together time at the local pet store where we attended obeisance classes. He has a harness, which doesn’t allow him to bolt, but I can let him off his leash and he will run rings around me and usually come back. He only gets my shoes and puts one on the bed to let me know he still thinks about it but doesn’t chew on them any longer. But the only thing that hasn’t changed was his contentious barking.
After the usual google recommended suggestions like pennies in a soda can which he got used to quickly or the water in a spray bottle I had decided to try a shock collar. It was taken back the next morning while I complained at the returns desk that it was down right abuse. Then I found the cats meow of the bark-less world. A collar that sprays a mist of citronella when he barks. Not found on the bargain table but worth every penny.
Now I live in peace, my dog is actually normal, my days and nights are quiet and my closet is filled once again with complete pairs of shoes.
And new nicknames have been assigned. Frogster, Frogmister and just Frog.
Now my son wants his dog back….