How I got the wrong dog.

On Friday, I posted a recap of my past decade and afterward, a few of you were curious how I ended up with the wrong dog and looking back on it now, I should probably have seen it coming. 

I was living in a townhouse with three other girls a few years ago and our landlord only allowed one small pet so when I decided I wanted a dog, that narrowed down the field immediately.

After checking our area animal shelters for small breeds I knew a rescue might not happen. After some research and narrowing down some options, I widened my search and came across an ad in the paper for a West Highland White Terrier breeder who had five puppies for sale. Of course, being the good Animal Planet viewer that I am, when we went to visit, I scanned the area for any signs of a puppy farm. It looked legit. The lady even owned a preschool and after seeing those little 2 and 3 year kids play with the puppies, my heart melted. Bodie was obviously the sweetest pup out of all of them and I knew he had to be mine. I told her I was sold and that I would come back in a couple days after getting the appropriate supplies. 

Once I got a crate, some toys, food and the okay from my boyfriend (now husband), we called the breeder to arrange for the pickup. She informed me that she wouldn't be home but her two teenage sons would know what to do. Yeah, right.

When we arrived, her high school age son pointed me in the direction of the fenced in area out back and asked me which dog was mine, the girl dog or the boy. Confused, (because, ya know, I figured the damn breeder would have at least filled them in on the appropriate details) I told him that I had chosen the boy puppy. We scooped up the little bugger and were on our way. 

Things seemed weird though, the puppy seemed really distant and kinda mean, but I chocked it up to nerves. He was moving in with a new family and obviously didn't want to leave all his little homies behind. We got back to the townhouse and started playing with the roommates but puppy was still not super social and he would nip at everyone. Nothing a little training can't fix I thought. Then, that evening, we were cuddling on the couch and the little bastard guy started chewing my cell phone charger. I gave him a little tap when my phone rang and it was the breeder

She apologized profusely and told me that her son had forgotten that my puppy was inside the laundry room, not the kennel outside. The dog I had, which was still chewing my phone cord into a million pieces, actually belonged to a man on vacation in London. She was his foster momma until the guy got back. At this point, I was relieved, the freaking dog was the devil. He nipped, peed, chewed and barked so much, I was glad to give him up.

The next morning, my sweet little boy came home. Now, obviously Bodie wasn't a perfect angel either. He chewed my dresser, my dining room table, and my Timberland boots as a puppy but never once did he chew my cell phone cord.

Bodie knew I had a BlackBerry obsession. We're soulmates.