Six years ago, today, we met Boomer Dog at the shelter in Hooterville. His shelter name was Captain, but it was obvious to us from the start that he was a Boomerang. I mean, he returned anything that you threw. Anything.
He's still all about the fetch, and, if you asked him, his perfect day would include hours and hours of running after balls. And frisbees. And toys. And empty water bottles. And just about anything else that you could throw.
When we first met Boomer, I was uninterested in getting another dog. Hugh championed his adoption with promises of being his main caretaker and I eventually caved. Little did I know that Boomer dog was merely toying with Hugh; feigning loyalty, obedience, and dedication to the man while secretly harboring a clear intention to be...my dog.
I'd never had a dog before. I mean, I'd had a dog, several, actually (Trooper, Jake, Sheba, sweet Rowdie Dog), but I'd never had a dog; I'd never been the obvious master to any of our canines. Instead, I'd been the Mistress by Default, when Hugh or the kids were unavailable for doing dog chores, or for giving affection or attention.
That all changed with Boomer Dog.
From the moment he crossed the threshold into our home for the first time, he made his intentions clear: I was his human.
He followed me everywhere I went, settled at my feet whenever I sat, listened to-and obeyed-my every command. When Hugh told him to do something, he looked to me for approval.
When it came to teaching him new tricks, he humored Hugh and the kids, but got down to the actual business of nailing each one with me. I taught him to ring a bell on the door when he wanted to go outside. I taught him to catch treats off the tip of his nose. I taught him to crawl, and to shake hands, and to push a button for treats.
He was already pretty well trained in the basics when we got him; I didn't have to train him to walk/run on a leash, or to sit, or to lay down. He was also already trained to switch sides to put himself between me and people approaching us when we were on a walk, which leads me to believe that-in his previous life-he belonged to a woman.
A lot of things lead me to believe this, actually.
And, while we'll never know who that woman was or what became of her; I'll be forever grateful to her for loving him before me (I truly believe that him ending up in the shelter is indicative of her passing away; I just cannot fathom it being anything else).
I'm also eternally grateful for every moment that I have had with my dog. My Boomer. My Boo-Bear.
I don't know how much time we have left together, and, I don't really care to focus on that. Instead, I'm going to celebrate his Gotcha Day with extra treats, a few games of fetch, and maybe a walk to the park, if the weather allows. If not, we'll take a drive and get a Pup Cup, or, stop by the bank for a biscuit.
Whatever it takes to make hims a happy boy.
Because he has brought us nothing but happiness and he deserves it.
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