This is Oliver. He's come to live with us.
I know I haven't written in over a month, and so much has happened - some good, like Oliver; some... very, very bad, like the unexpected and terrible death of a former student. I'll need to write about Brad soon, but the grief is still too fresh. So I thought I'd return to the world of blog by introducing our new puppy to you.
Oliver's early story is, like his Dickensian namesake, one of hardship: he was found by a farmer near Crystal City. The farmer thought he was a gopher and was about to run him over with his truck when he realized it was a skin-and-bone 3 pound puppy. The farmer took him to a local vet, who looked after him for a little while before turning him over to our friend Erin, a pastor and animal lover who lives in Crystal City. Erin's known for rescuing things and, as she was also in the process of rescuing another dog, asked if we could take little Oliver.
The first thing people say when they meet Oliver is, "He's beautiful. What is he?" Well, we know he's beautiful, but we have no idea what he is. The vets (the one around Crystal City and our new local vet) both say Terrier cross. There maybe some lab in there and who knows what else. Maybe some bassett hound (his front legs bow a little).
Some people insist he's going to be huge, but the vets and pet store employees all figure 25-30 pounds. He's growing quickly and it's been really interesting watching him become accustomed to his new home. He does not, for example, like to walk. I have to carry him down the street and he'll walk home. I think it's fear that he's not coming back.
I'm sure it's even more amusing watching us become accustomed to him. We have his "diaper bag," poop bag dispensers, tags, toys. We take him with us most places, because he's crate trained (he LOVES his crate) and too young to leave for a long period of time without an accident.