The sad story of the adopted poodle who wasn’t.
Bubs aka Bubbles is adopted. We’ve never told her but she is. When she was a pup, less than 2 years-old, I would lay awake at night dreading the day I’d have her to tell her that we picked her out at the shelter; that we had never met her parents; and that although we could see and had been told she was a poodle, we could not document any of that. She would have to take it on faith.
When she played at the dog park with the other dogs, she never demonstrated any self-effacement, but I knew inside, not knowing … made her sad. If we had bought her directly from the breeder things would have been different, but we loved her as much as if she were given directly to us.
It wasn’t the shelter for abused women dogs; it was a shelter for the unwanted, homeless and abandoned. The family who bought her from the breeder was childless, and then the wife who was 43 years old became pregnant. At least they didn’t blame Bubs for the pregnancy. They worried about a dog with the child, and gave up the pup. Life is full of choices, that’s why it’s spelled L – IF - E.
The whole story started when I promised Pam if she got an A in math, her hardest subject, that she could have a dog. She’d have to walk and take care of it. I thought she’d learn responsibility. Similar to thinking that chess would teach her to be logical. Not every idea I have works out perfectly. This one, well …
Pam received an A plus in geometry, - there’s a reason she was accepted to Harvard undergrad and Yale Law school; it’s called brains.
We drove the station wagon to the shelter. Pam loved Bubbles on first sight. I have to admit that Bubbles’ dark siren eyes sang to my soul. She was a seductress of a major magnitude. The tilted head with the soft stare could melt Simon Legree’s heart, not that I put myself in his class, but during those days, working the hours that I did, well … after 40 hours awake: emergency surgery sandwiched between working two sets of 5 hours in the office, (25 to 30 patients, not all pleasant, but all needing help) being a pleasant Ole Mad Mutt all the time was difficult.
Sorry, I got sidetracked back to Bubs riding home.
So wee-wee pad and cage in the back of the station wagon and Bubs already showing her lack of demeanor, barking and spinning in excitement, we drove home.
In the car, she would bark first at me, and then in her excitement she’d yell at the dog. Yes, I am talking about Pam who made Bubs look calm. Who says teenagers always have to play it cool? It gave me a giggle that I had to hide, so as not to incur the wrath of my daughter. At one point, between Pam’s barks and Bubs’ answers, it seemed they were singing a chorus together, in harmony.
The dog fed off Pam and by the time we got home, they were fully bonded.
The ex’s first words were, “Did you have to pick a dirty dog. You and Pam wash her clean before she steps in my house.”
So Pam and I took Bubs out on the patio, by the pool and hosed her down and washed her up. Most dogs would probably be upset or mad at the treatment, but she was a trooper. She bit the water from the hose and rocked up and down like a carrousel horse. (She does that move even today when she is really excited.)
She barked, but not at us. She encouraged her pampering, nuzzling Pam’s hand as she soaped the dog up. Her head-thrown-back barks seemed like the whinnies from a sire about to be bred to his favorite mare.
When we were finished, she looked no whiter. She was an off-white standard poodle. That’s what we thought. We already loved our mutant. She looked champagne colored or slightly tan. The curls were poodle although the length of the fur seemed a bit long. Maybe the curls were just a little straighter than I expected, but the length may have made them hang out.
We accepted Bubs for who she was. A mutant poodle even though the shelter had provided us with papers from the owner stating she was a pure bred. If we ever wanted to breed her to an AKC registered poodle, the off spring would be AKC registered purebred poodle. At least that is what the paper documented.
8 months after Bubbles arrived, Pam and my ex left for New York and my ex’s boyfriend in Westchester. My ex was only too happy to leave Bubs with her two daily walks with associated poop patrol, and grooming, and need for attention.
“We each get a child. You and my daughter certainly don’t think I would be yoked to that tan fuzz ball. Bubbles is your child, as Pammie is mine. We split the children down the middle. Pammie can beg all she wants, you have Bubbles.”
Bubbles became Bubs because no man wants to be walking his large off white poodle and calling, “Here Bubbles” while standing outside of a tavern at the Jersey shore. The reaction could keep Mike Tyson in shape and training.
The dog liked her nickname and so did I. About two years after we brought her home, I received a note from the shelter.
Ophelia Shakespeare Desdemona iii, the dog you adopted two years ago, has a problem. Please contact us.
Yes, Bubs real name as provided by her breeder was actually, Ophelia Shakespeare Desdemona iii. No wonder she liked Bubs better.
A letter of this tone, received by a physician, creates the type of fear that makes you check your healthcare coverage. Bubs was unemployed and therefore had none. She couldn’t apply for Blue Bone and Blue Muzzle, and she was ineligible for Medicaid, unless she could prove she was a Chihuahua from Mexico with a green card or work visa. People have told me that some individuals on Medicaid have neither of those documents. Can you believe that?
Even now, our President O’Bummer ignores her demographics for healthcare coverage. Get out the dog vote next election.
I visited the shelter and they gave me a letter, which had been initially sent to the family that bought Bubs from the breeder. It stated that she was not a purebred Poodle. Although her mother had been a poodle, she, the mother, had escaped for a fling with the Wheaton Terrier sire on the next farm.
Had they been planning this assignation, or was it totally happenstance? We will never know, but Bubs was one of the products of the love connection. She was one of the original Whoodles. The cross breeding of a Poodle with a Wheaton Terrier.
They are magnificent dogs and Bubs is a typical product. She is off white in color with long curled fur and a mix in stature between the two breeds. She is usually docile like a poodle, but when whipped up, like a meringue, she behaves with the energy of a terrier.
I wasn’t planning on breeding Bubs so the revelation was moot. However, like a good golf swing, the story would not be complete without the follow through. In the second paragraph of the letter, the breeder asked to have the names of all off spring and their owners so that the AKC could correct the breeding lines and keep the poodle breed pure.
They would perform this task for me, if I paid them $400. If I wished to perform this communications process myself, they would forward the papers for $400. If I wished to continue breeding in the future, I would need the full sire line papers and that would cost me $400. If I did not contact them, they would forward the problem to the AKC, and make sure that any off spring of Ophelia Shakespeare Desdemona iii, would be ineligible in either classification, Poodle or Whoodle.
My natural inclination was to send them a letter to stuff their whole kit and caboodle with a noodle up one of their poodles. Tink prevailed on me to ignore the letter, since we have the best dog, and they have the problem of fraud.
Seemed like a good plan, but now I worry about how I am going to tell Bubs. We know who her sire and dam were, but they weren’t of the same breed. She's a mixed breed. How will this affect her self-esteem? She usually trots proudly on the sand or boardwalk. I don’t want her to lose her swagger.
The reason why this comes up urgently today is that the breeder, through the shelter, has located me. They sent me a bill for the paper work they have enclosed. $400. So I guess, Tink’s plan failed.
When I called the shelter, they said the breeder asked for my name. The reason they gave was a hereditary hip problem that the dog might have and needed evaluation. The shelter only wanted the dog to be taken care of well.
I may only be a human orthopedic surgeon, but I know that a dog, who is 13 years old in dog years, and therefore, approximately 91 years in human counting, would probably have demonstrated a congenital hip defect by now. She has been on glucosamine and chondroitin sulfate since she was 5. The dog still chases squirrels, and Mrs. Leary’s cat, not to mention, the creature in the bramble, who at times gets Bubs a little whipped up.
So I am not too worried about her congenital hip problem.
I am worried about others getting sucked in by this plan to make a breeder’s deception or fraud profitable for them. I think the AKC needs to be informed of this problem. I just didn’t know how to go about it.
Over dinner last week Pam listened as Tink laughed about Bubs needing a total hip and Ole Doc Snickers – aka the Mad Mutt - putting one in her hip.
Pam offered her services because she loved her dog. On her office stationary she wrote the breeder a letter. Essentially in legalese, it states you broke it, you fix it at your expense, or we will seek reimbursement for lost income from failure to have breeding stock as advertised.
She mentioned 8 breeding seasons that would have been useable if the dog were truly a Poodle. At an average of 4 pups per litter and $1500 per dog, she estimated the damages as $48,000.
Of course, if we had actually bred the dog there would have been costs to us, but the other side of the equation was that most litters are larger than 4 pups.
Lawyers, can’t live with them and can’t live without them.
We haven’t received a letter back from the breeders as yet, but I do have the post card from the return-receipt-requested certified-letter sent by Pam.
Isn’t life fun? Just when you thought the sea was calm, some one of exceptionally low intelligence runs your bow in a speedboat. Trim the mainsail and give full chase, overheating your cannon’s muzzle from the cannonade.
Sink the Bastards and make them scuba diving fodder.
As to Bubs, she handled all this well. I haven’t noticed her off her feed, and she still protects the house at night running from window to window barking at the damn keening from that bramble.
Sorry, I promised that we would disclose the creature of the wild rose bramble this week, but I have to defer that to the future because of this shocking news.
I am the Mad Mutt, proud owner of a Whoodle, who can’t even whistle Yankee Doodle. Goodnight Jimmy Cagney, and all ships at sea.
No comments:
Post a Comment