BROWNIE'S STORY

Americans are skeptical of arranged matches. We want to look at someone and feel instant attraction. In the absence of that first, inexplicable tug on the heartstrings, we can’t imagine the kind of love that leads to lifelong commitment.

Most people choose their dogs the same way, gambling that the one with the most compelling looks will also be the perfect match. That’s how I did it – until this time.

This time, I refused to choose a dog based on what it looked like. And it’s a good thing, because on that basis I would have walked right by Brownie’s kennel without giving her more than a glance, much less a second look.

But I was ready to try a different approach. The last time I’d picked a puppy because it was cute, I had ended up with more dog than I could possibly control. After more than a year of unending irritation, frustration and exhaustion, I finally returned the dog to the shelter where I had adopted her (see “Pearl’s Story” at www.yourpetvalet.com). The only thing harder than returning her was the thought of continuing to live with her.

Based on that unhappy experience, I prepared a short list of requirements before heading to the Humane Society for my next canine companion:

1.I wanted a grown dog, not a puppy.
2.     The dog had to be calm, with a low to moderate energy level, suitable for a one-couch-potato household.
3.     The dog also had to be friendly, or at least non-threatening, to my three cats.

At the shelter, staffers at the front desk instructed me to go back to the kennels, choose a dog and then fill out an application.

“I don’t want to do it that way,” I told them. First they were puzzled, then elated at the prospect of helping make the match based on the above criteria (instead of the more usual “cute” and “doesn’t shed.”) They all had the same answer: “Brownie!”

She was the dog they were using to test the friendliness of every other dog who entered the shelter because, they said, Brownie got along with all of them. Her family had given her up when they had to move into an apartment.

Six years old, a German shepherd mix, Brownie has the kind of every-dog looks that don’t stand out. The qualities that make her so special can’t be seen right away. In fact, I worried that I might not bond as strongly with her as with previous dogs.

Silly me. During the first week, I marveled that anyone could part with such a well-behaved dog. By the second week, I had fallen in love.

My cats got comfortable with her right away. The oldest, 14 years old, likes Brownie so much she scent-marks the dog, rubbing her little face all over the 50-pound dog’s snout and licking Brownie’s ears. This perplexes the dog, but she politely submits.

Not a single item chewed; no accidents in the house; no frenzied barking, no fence jumping, no jumping on people, no swiping food from the counter tops, no garbage raiding… Brownie has not committed a single infraction.

It’s obvious that someone loved her, took care of her and taught her good manners. And now that I’m familiar with the abundance of her sterling qualities, she has become the most beautiful dog I’ve ever seen.



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