Isis

Diane, Isis, and Caden

Last night I brought home a Rottweiler incarnation of the goddess Isis. Having recently whelped a litter of puppies, she was abandoned for reasons unknown at the local animal shelter. She and her pups had only been in the pound for a day and a half when she was offered for adoption. A Rottweiler was not on my short list of dogs I was looking to adopt; in fact, it wasn't even on my long list! (I admit . . . I have listened to the fearmongers among us over the years and have always been a bit fearful of the larger breed dogs with "the bad reputation." It was a large Rottie male, in fact, that first injured my last dog, Joey the Chow, and turned her into a lifelong dog-agressive bitch.) But there she was, beautiful and as laid back as any dog I've ever met, gazing calmly up at us with that big blocky head and those beautiful brown eyes. A short walk later, she lay her head in my lap, and a match was made.

Last night she withdrew quietly to her crate shortly before I went to bed; and there she stayed for the entire night. In fact, I wonder just how much freedom she's had over the past three years of her life because if she's not glued to my side or getting some petting, she prefers to be sound asleep in her crate. Of course, I may discover that this is just some temporary soporific state caused by post-puppy hormones, and she may turn into a bouncy happy-go-lucky wild child, but I doubt it. Something in her eyes says, "I just want to be adored." (That could be a problem, too, but I'd rather deal with a diva who requires adoring than a bitch who wants to dominate everything and everyone in sight.)

Anyway, since she's obviously had little-to-no training, we're off to adult obedience school this afternoon. . . check back later for some results . . . this should be interesting because all I've gotten from repeated "sit" commands so far is a sad look and an "OK, but only if you insist and only for as long as it takes for you to blink."

Postmarked: West Melbourne, FL