Where I came from

Here's the story of how I came to live with Mom and Dad.

Back in 1997, Mom had finally talked Dad into getting a dog. "OK," said Dad. "But it's gonna be your dog, and you'll have to take care of it." (Back in those days, a dog was an "it" to Dad. You've come a long way, Dad.)

So, Mom decided to sign up as a volunteer at the Dane County [WI] Humane Society (DCHS). That way, she could learn more about dogs, and see how much she liked being around them. Plus, maybe in the course of walking the various dogs, she'd find the right one to take home. After a training and approval process that was more grueling than getting into graduate school, Mom became an official volunteer.

For 6 months, Mom walked dogs. She found one that she liked, but "Karl" got adopted out from under her. Eventually I came along. I had been picked up as a stray near S. Thompson Drive, a tough neighborhood (for Madison). I had been seen running loose for about a month before someone called the Humane Society.

Mom liked me right away. In the midst of a bunch of kennels of wildly barking dogs, I lying there calmly and quietly, looking up curiously at Mom. (Ha! What a dumb kid I was back then. I've found my voice since then.)

But when a stray gets turned in, the volunteers aren't supposed to walk him for the first week. This is to allow the owner to claim the dog before the dog forms an attachment to someone else. But here's the dirty secret: normally law-abiding Mom actually crept into my cage before the week was up and petted me. I was glad to have the attention, and repeatedly jumped up on her, as any polite dog would do.

Mom decided right away that I was the dog for her. So, she put her name on the waiting list so that she could adopt me when my week was up.

The big date was 4 June, 1998. Mom and Dad came to take me for a walk. We immediately felt like a family. Plus, I had a great time checking out the field next to the Humane Society. At the time, the DCHS was located next to a big field with old railroad ties and other construction material. A prime spot, if you ask me.

The adoption papers were filled out, and I was theirs. It was 4 June 1998. After filling out the papers and finalizing the adoption, Mom and Dad were hungry. (So was I, but I am always hungry.) So, we went to the nearby Einstein's Bagels to eat. Well, they ate and I hung out with them outside.

When we got to Mom and Dad's house, I walked right in, sniffed around, and promptly declared the place my own. I knew I was home.

Epilogue: two years later, the person who cleaned our house, Deedee, one day matter-of-factly declared that she knew me from a few years ago. Seems her ex-boyfriend's cousin, who lived near S. Thompson Drive, owned me for a few months. My name was "Thumper". She ditched me when she went off to college.

Now, Mom was skeptical of this. Why did Deedee wait for two years before making this claim? But on the other hand, I was very accepting of Deedee even the first time I saw her in our house. And Mom and Dad never told Deedee where I was found. Could the S. Thompson location be a coincidence?

I can't say. But here's a hint: I've always thumped my tail a lot.