Loving the Difficult Dog

My Annie is not who I thought she was when we met.  I’m pretty sure the deception on her part was not deliberate, though on many occasions she has proven herself to be more resourceful than any of us could have imagined.

Annabelle is many things I wanted in a dog.  She is loving, devoted, mellow and a bit on the lazy side.  She’s smart, worries endlessly about my son Dylan and tolerates the cats admirably.  Really, the cats are a pain. 

Much of her personality, however, came as a surprise.  For example, for at least three months after we brought her home, I was certain that my pup was the most quiet, polite doggie in all the world.  She literally didn’t make a sound.  Then one day I was cooking hamburger and she found her voice.  Any Coonhound would have been impressed by that heartfelt “Arrroooo!”  Sadly, I made a big deal out of this event, which means that Annie thinks that I ADORE this sound.  I do not.

She is painfully shy, my dog, which means no dog parks.  She couldn’t care less about anything resembling a ball, which means my favorite dog sport is out, too.  She’s a tugger, not a fetcher.  Her delicate mental state also ensures that, while she lives, I can never add another dog to the family… It would stress her out beyond belief.

There are other issues.  The potty training isn’t exactly rock-solid, she’s frightened of men, cannot be controlled when someone comes to the door, etc.  She’s what one of my favorite authors would refer to as a “flawed dog”. 

And the thing is, that’s okay.

She’s not what I would have ordered, but that how it goes with love.  It’s not what you expect, it’s not perfect, but it’s yours.  My dog is not a sweater that doesn’t fit right; she is herself and part of our goofy, unconventional and furry family.  She deserves love as much as any of us, because, when you really look at it, we are ALL flawed dogs.