[Mackenzie’s Admin]

I think that my dog addiction started back in October 2000, right after I got engaged to my husband. Every time a TV commercial came on in which there was a dog, I would mention to my then fiance "Boy, I wish I had a dog!" So, one month prior to our wedding, Randy suprised me with a trip to the Ionia Humane Society, where I saw my little blonde Ingrid sitting quietly in her little crate while every other dog in the kennel was barking. Ingrid is now 8 1/2 years old, but she’s the first dog I ever had that was "my dog." She loves to cuddle, and in the morning, if the bedroom door is open, she runs into the room, leaps up onto the bed, looks right in my face, and then curls up next to me to go back to sleep. She is a real sweetheart, and wants to be everywhere that I am, though she’s not pushy–just a loving and gentle soul with a intense bond to her mom.

So, we had good luck with our first impulse adoption, and nine months later, while browsing around PetSmart, I let another pair of big brown eyes snag my heart, and have laughingly "regretted" it ever since. Ingrid, whose temperment is like the warm, sunny summer day on which we adopted her, was in no way a preparation for the four legged tornado I adopted on that cold February night when I saw her sitting in her crate. For those of you who know me, I probably only need to say that Daisy was a four month old black lab mix, who turned out to be a real challenge. She actually forced me into learning how to do basic obiedience training. Daisy likes to hoard everything she can sneak into her crate–particularly used kleenex, Q Tips, books, and video tapes. And just because she’s 7 1/2 does not in any way mean that she shows signs of calming down; just two months ago I found her doing what appeared to be arts and crafts in her crate; she had raided my craft supplies and managed to steal a pot of orange glitter, 30 plastic cello gift bags (with twist ties) and 20 wooden craft circles, along with three sheets of scrapbook paper and a copy of Faust (in German). What she does with all of those things, I don’t rightly know. She does, however, bravely defend our home against garbage trucks, bicycles, joggers, and the UPS guy–but could care less about the FedEX guy.

And then there’s my timid little 9 year old Jack Russell mix Leeli who came to live with me when we brought Betty Sue and MAgnet back from Holland. She pretty much stays in Ingrid’s old crate all day, but she’s ever so slowly coming out of her shell. Nearly everything frightens or startles her, but I suspect that she’s had a pretty rough go of life before I brought her home. She’s not such a basket case anymore–she doesn’t roll over on her back as much as she used to, and she actually gets excited now and then, especially when there’s steak or chicken for dinner.

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