How Ziggy made me a dog person (Part 1)

Well, maybe Ziggy didn't MAKE me a dog person, but he certainly made me discover that I WAS a dog person.

I'm writing this post because the suspense of waiting to see if Karen will choose us or some other applicant is very stressful, and I like thinking about sweet Ziggy.

OK, so let me start with the fact that my husband grew up with dogs. His parents always had anywhere from two to six dogs at a time, as well as a multitude of cats (usually "barn" cats) and, later on after his dad retired, horses. I always liked the dogs, but never considered myself a "dog person." There was always a GSD in his life, until we married and had no room for one. Or so I thought.

Anyway, some time in 1998 (I think) the last GSD in H's parent's house had to be euthanized, and H's sister went about looking for a breeder for another one for her mom. She hit the jackpot when she found Ziggy. Zigfried von Wolfhausen was born (oh yeah, I'm now a dog person, and a dog person probably says "whelped") in November 1998, and H's father picked him out of the litter. When all the other puppies were not the least bit interested in human interraction, Ziggy was VERY interested in H's dad. And Ziggy was extremely young when H's dad got him for his mom. I think he was only about 6 weeks old and just weaned. Awfully young, in my opinion, but what did I know about puppies and when they should be removed from their mother? Anyway, we saw the family at Christmas and met Ziggy. My son was 11 years old at the time and couldn't stop holding the puppy sweetly in his lap. He didn't play with Ziggy; he just held him. At first H's dad fussed at him for "over-stimulating" the pup, but then he said "Never mind; the attention will socialize him." And that was the start of my son's infatuation with GSDs. Ziggy was well-loved and on his way to becoming an incredible dog. I thought Ziggy was delightful, but did not consider myself a "dog person."

Then, five months later, H's dad fell from a horse and broke his collarbone and two ribs. While he was recovering in the hospital, he had a heart attack and died. It was devastating for everyone in the family, myself included. He was a man who had come to understand people on a special level through understanding his horses and dogs. He could be very gruff, but I had discovered over the years that there was a huge heart in him, and a love for his animals that transcended his "gentleman farmer" attitude.

Ziggy was five months old. H's mom was, in my opinion, thrown into a deep depression that made it impossible to care for all the animals properly. Then she was diagnosed with lung cancer, further compounding the problems. Ziggy was raised by his "aunts" ... a Rottie mix, an Irish Wolfhound mix, a Black Lab mix, a Heinz 57 mix and a Bedroom Slipper (I mean, some sort of fluffy thing with no eyes, but with a grin that revealed tiny, really white teeth). Another beautiful GSD showed up, too. All of the dogs, except Ziggy, were rescues. People often just dump their dogs in the country and the big-hearted people, like my husband's mom, take them in. Thank Heaven for people like H's mom!

Sadly, the day came (in August 2001) that H's mom could no longer live on her own, and the dogs had to be distributed among the family in Houston so that she could move in with H's sister. Somehow, all but Ziggy went to a sibling. One day I was talking to H's sister on the phone and asked what had been decided regarding Zig. "We'll probably put him in a kennel until we figure something out," she said. I don't know where the words came from, but I immediately said "Oh, no, that would ruin that dog; why don't we be his foster parents until you decide what to do with him?" "Are you sure?" she said. (Hmmm, do you think I should have guessed that, maybe, the intent all along was to get us to take Ziggy?) "Of course!" I said, "We'll be his foster parents."

So the hub and the son drove from DC to Houston to pick up our beautiful Ziggy...and also to help move H's mom in with his sister. Three days after they returned home with my very first dog, I called his sister and said: "Don't expect to get Ziggy back. We've decided to keep him, ok?" "Are you sure?" she says (again with the "Are you sure" thing), basically wanting to know if we were up to it. Ha! He was ours from that moment on. Actually, he was "ours" on the first day of his "migration" from Houston with my husband and son.

The interesting thing about this whole experience is that, somehow, I was the one who suggested we take Zig, and I was the one who declared we were keeping him. Do you think they all used some sort of ... psychology ... on me? Something to make me THINK it was all my idea? I wonder...

Still, I did not believe I was a dog person.

More later.