Neither my wife, nor I have ever owned a dog. Ever. So putting off dog ownership when my daughter was 3 years old was easy. We arbitrarily picked an age, in this case 8, and said, ‘not until you’re eight’. I guess, eight wasn’t completely arbitrary. We chose eight because we’d assume she could handle some of the responsibilities of having a dog.
When my daughter was seven one of her auntie’s farm cats had a litter. Dogs were substituted for cats. The deal was struck that she could have two cats when she was seven, as opposed to one dog when she was eight. Well, now she’s nine. Now she has two cats and we have one dog. It was a slow burn, but eventually her master plan (insert evil laugh) came to fruition.
The dog, we’ve named it Cookie, is a pure bread mutt. Probably some beagle, lab and bull dog all mixed together. She’s maybe around 8 months old. She came to us from a rescue organization and had been in a foster home for a few weeks. She’s pretty well-adjusted. Crate trained, house broken, knows the command ‘sit’. We’ll be signing up for obedience classes soon in hopes of breaking her of a few less appealing habits.
The first 48 hours have been positive. We’re still figuring each other out. Maybe one day the cats will leave their basement hiding spots. Maybe.