My husband and I are German Shepherd people. Once you fall in love with a specific breed, you can’t imagine life with a substitute. Labs, Goldens and any assortment of pound puppies could easily steal our hearts, but when we picture ourselves snuggled up with a four-pawed family member, it’s a German Shepherd Dog that naturally fits into our mind’s eye.

In June, 2006 we lost our beloved Zach and found our house to be odly quiet, cold and far too clean.  We’d never not had a dog, but when Zach passed away we were convinced that we were done with dogs. We were sick of dog hair finding its way into every possible crevice. We were tired of pop scooping and the constraints of trying to figure out what to do with canine companions when we traveled. We swore to ourselves and to everyone who knew us that we’d not bring a dog into the new house we were building. 

The new house was officially a DOG FREE ZONE.

Three weeks after moving into the new house, I changed my tune. Maybe because Zach’s memory didn’t lurk in every corner of a house he’d never guarded, and even though our hearts still ached with his absence, maybe I knew the only way to make the house a home was to add a few layers of dog hair. Whatever it was, I started my ‘gotta get a puppy’ campaign. 

I spent weeks researching GSD breeders in Georgia and trying to better define what we were looking for in lineage. Temperament was more important to us than ever now that Aaron was an over active three-year-old. After lots of spousal debating, talking to multiple breeders and reading a congressional library’s worth of information, we decided on a kennel. They had a litter that would be weaned in four weeks, and we drove two hours each way to see the little hooligans and to meet their parents. After all, even in the four-legged genre, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. We fell in love instantly. 

My husband wanted a male, and I didn’t care. We placed a puppy deposit and then spent the next four weeks like new parents anticipating a baby’s arrival. We shopped for puppy supplies, baby proofed, prepped Aaron for becoming a big brother, let him pick out a name and debated about who would be getting up in the middle of the night for potty runs.

Finally it was time for us to pick up our new bundle of joy. Max (that’s what happens when you give naming rights to a preschooler…you get something absolutely non-original) had doubled his size in a month and he was already the largest pup in the litter.  Weighing in at 16.8 lbs, I was wondering if he could still be classified a puppy.

While chatting with the breeder and hoping Max would leave a last sprinkle in the grass before we headed home, the strangest thing happened.

My husband pulled me aside and said, “Are you sure we should get a male? Look at the female with the yellow ribbon. She’s really sweet.”

My sensible spouse rarely changes his mind on a whim and he’d been adamant about wanting a male pup. He wanted to walk through the neighborhood with the biggest, bad-ass looking gentle giant he could get his hands on. Why all of a sudden was he eyeing a female? “If you want the female that’s fine with me, but Aaron’s already all set with a name and he thinks we’re bringing MAX home. He thinks he’s getting a baby brother,” I said. “Maybe we should get both puppies,” my husband countered. ” I gave him a wifely you must have lost your freaking mind look and immediately dismissed him.  

Max adjusted quickly to his new home. We were having much more success potty training the puppy than our child, and everyone was sleeping through the night. But that little bitch with the yellow ribbon had cosmically aligned herself with my husband, and he couldn’t quite get her out of his mind.

For two weeks we discussed, dismissed and discussed some more the idea of going back to get the female. Finally, half hoping that she’d moved on to a new family and we could put the idea of TWO puppies to rest, I emailed the breeder to see if the little yellow-ribboned female was still available. She was still there. Shit! I shared the disastrous news with my husband and after a couple of hours he came back to me and said, “Why don’t you contact the breeder and see if he’ll give us a discount on the female since it’s the second pup we’d purchase.” What a perfect idea. There’s no way he’s going to offer us a discount and this will finally put the issue to rest.

What’s the saying…be careful what you ask for? The breeder is a kind man and said of course he’d be willing to extend a special price. Damn. My husband’s exact words were, “It’s been a long time since we’ve done anything crazy. Let’s go get her.” How could I argue with him. He’s always supportive of anything I want to do, no matter how insane he thinks I may be, and this little dog with the yellow ribbon had obviously made an impression on his heart.

In fact he was so enamoured of her that he didn’t even swear out loud when she vomited and had two bouts of diarrhea inside his brand new truck when we were driving home with her. He simply pulled off the highway, cleaned her up and proceeded to worry more about  how frightened she was than how disgusting his vehicle smelt. If you knew my husband, your jaw would be on the floor right now.

It took me a few weeks to figure out why this bundle of tail wagging energy had captured my husband’s heart. Ellie’s temperament was much like her brother, Max’s. She was full of puppy antics. She was sweet and naughty at the same time, and she adored my husband. But as Max grew and took on all the typical characteristics of a GSD, we could see that Ellie was a little different. She’s wickedly smart (Really, though, have you ever met a dumb German Shepherd Dog?), but she has wavy hair on her back and she looks like the flying nun. Her ears have never become proudly erect as they should, and she’s so stubborn I wonder if there’s donkey in her gene pool. But the crux of her connection with my husband is that she’s a tad bit crazy. Really, she’s crazy, which is a quailty my husband admires in every bitch, thank God.

The twins just turned one-year-old. And, what a difference a year makes. Not only are they almost gigantic, they shed more than enough hair to double weave a rug from here to Africa. Our brand new house has claw marks in the beautiful wood floors, we’re dog poor from multiple home improvement projects like fencing the back yard and adding stairs to the porch, and we’ve gone through approximately 1,000 pounds of doggy kibble. It’s been a year of dog days…wonderful, crazy, hairy dog days.