Wanderings – New additions and new adventures
AI-generated cartoon of a Sheepadoodle used as Miles will not sit still long enough to have his photo taken.[/caption]
I have never considered myself a pet person. I grew up with pets at home. At its peak, my parents had two dogs, four cats, a couple of doves, a budgie, and a bunch of chickens. When Isabell and I met, we started a family, and that grew to four kids. Four kids can be a lot, so having a pet didn’t factor into our plan as parents. Until now.
All our kids are finished high school and two are already finished with their post-secondary studies, making their way through life. After a couple of decades of a house filled with kids, Lego adventures, sports, cartoons, and homework avoidance, coming home to a silent home was rather disconcerting. It turns out I like the chaotic sounds of life. Enter Miles.
Miles, the five-month-old Sheepadoodle, arrived from a few hours away from Casa del Blancher. The last of his litter to be adopted out, his story appealed to my nature of rooting for the underdog in most stories.
What is a Sheepadoodle? Great question as I had trouble figuring that one out. He is a 50/50 mix of an Old English Sheepdog and a Poodle. According to the breeder, he is an F1, which I thought was going to be related to his speed, like a Formula One car – no, that means he’s a 50/50 mix. More useless trivia for my brain to absorb.
He was chosen because “doodle-type dogs are allegedly better for people with allergies.” I contest this assessment as I am still trying to discover the right combination of new allergy medicine to take to counteract the dog.
Miles is named after one of my favourite musicians, Miles Davis. We had a debate in the family on what to name the dog. One suggestion was Rocket, but this wouldn’t work because this dog doesn’t go in a straight line when we are out for a walk. George was another consideration, after my favourite Beatle.
Few liked my suggestion of Hemingway (short name Hemi, which would be a good Mopar car guy name). Kipling was another name dismissed, as was Watson (Dr. Watson, I presume), Hobbes (of Calvin and Hobbes fame), Murphy (Brown), Ansel (Adams the photographer), or Roy Kent (from the Ted Lasso series). There were mixed opinions about the Roy Kent chant that would follow the dog around. Miles it is then. I soon realized the dog’s name should have been Metres, given we are in Canada. (Insert bad Dad joke groan here.)
Miles is a happy addition to our family. Happy as can be, he is a big, fluffy dog. Black and white all over with a shock of white hair in the middle of the black fur on his forehead.
Having a dog, a puppy, in the house is like having a toddler again. Except our human toddlers didn’t try to walk off with my socks at every opportunity. Training the dog is more difficult than children, namely due to the language barrier. We have “sit” figured out, and he is learning the other basics needed for when we are out for walks. Isabell is happy that I now have to make sure my socks are picked up off the floor at all times.
Given my family’s favourite sport is soccer, Miles already can chase a soccer ball, and given the poodle legs he has, we are working on teaching him to kick the ball into a net. My suggestions of training the dog to be a soccer goalie, making a couple of videos to monetize on the internet to help pay for future veterinary bills, fell on deaf ears. People look at stupid cat videos for eight hours a day online, why not a soccer goalie Sheepadoodle?
I already know where I am in the dog hierarchy – third place. First is my wife – rightly so, followed by the oldest son, the soccer trainer, then me. I am okay with being third as I am still along for all the important things – like paying for dog food.
There have already been a few adventures, like the dog exploring every branch of our Christmas tree when it went up, digging through the mulch in the back yard, trying to pull me by the leash down the street at a gallop when I have one set walking speed – slow.
There is still some training needed, both for dog and myself. Yes, I am picking up my socks more often now and pushing all dishes away from the edge of the counters and tables.
Despite the high energy of Miles, he does like to sleep at my feet when I am writing at my desk, which is a comforting feeling I didn’t know I was missing until Miles arrived.
It is a different sound that greets me when I come home from work now. The sliding paws scampering across the floor, crashing into the door like Scooby from the cartoon (also a suggested name that was quickly dismissed). A fuzzy dog happy to see me. I guess I am kind of a dog person after all.
This column was originally published in the December 18 print edition of the Morrisburg Leader.