Young children, especially girls,
tend to have obsessions, myself included. Typically five year olds obsess over
princesses in Disney movies and Barbie dolls. Don’t get me wrong I had my fair share
of play time in the Barbie doll world, but that wasn’t my main concern. At five
years old I was obsessed with three things. One: playing outside in the woods
looking for treasure, two: swimming in my grandma’s pool and pretending I was a
dolphin and three: anything and everything that had to do with dogs.
I had asked my parents repeatedly
for a dog and every time their answer was the same. “Maybe when you’re older
Lindsey,” or “When you show us you’re responsible enough.” I took this very
seriously. I only rented books about dogs from the library and I read them like
my life depended on it. I memorized the different dog breeds to the point where
I still know them today. I can literally see just about any dog on the street
and tell you what kind of breed it is. (It’s a little embarrassing I have to
admit.) But I couldn’t help myself, for
some reason I needed to have my own dog. Eventually, either due to my obsessive
begging or shared desire to have a dog as well, my dad took me to pick one out.
I was in morning Kindergarten. My
sister was four and in pre-school. I remember it was late March because her and
I had the chicken pocks around Easter. My youngest sister was still a new born
and Mom was super worried about her catching the itchy spots from us. Just
after we’d finished our dinner one evening Dad asked me if I would be
interested in going to look at some Brittany puppies. Brittany’s are hunting
dogs. They are various shades of brown and white. Their tails are docked at
birth and they have feathery hair on their legs that fan out. Of course when it
comes to puppies for sale you can never just go and look. I was ecstatic to say
the least. Dad had borrowed a small animal carrier from a co. worker so I knew
he was serious.
It was an hour drive to the farm and
it was dark by the time we got there. There were only two puppies left, both
boys. One was mostly liver colored. His head was completely brown. The other
was also liver colored but he had a single white stripe down his forehead and
speckled spots all over his forelegs. He was the one I picked mostly because of
that stripe.
I sat with my puppy in the back seat
the entire way home. I remember that he wasn’t a huge fan of the crate. His
front baby teeth gnawed at the metal bars and his soft whimpers were pathetic
but adorable. Soon those whimpers turned into long howls. I tried my best to
comfort him by sticking my fingers between the bars and letting him chew on
them. That didn’t sustain him for long. Eventually, my dad and I howled along
with him.
I had a few names picked out for
him, like Chance or Shadow (from Homeward Bound). Dad had something different
in mind. I remember him saying, “He has to have a short name so when you call
for him it doesn’t take very long.” He called out a few different names until
he called the name Bo. I’m not sure where he got that name from but it stuck.
His name was Bo.
