In the summer of 2010, I had my first pup, Teddy.
It was a big deal, and we got a bit carried away.
“You don’t have to wear fur to be a good dog,” my husband told me.
“We don’t need to wear anything to be dogs.
We’re just dogs.”
My dog had been trained to play fetch with us.
But he didn’t play with us because we were so happy that he was wearing a fur coat.
I wasn’t wearing a dog coat.
My dog didn’t wear a fur jacket.
The next time I saw Teddy, he was about six weeks old, and he was a good little puppy.
We were excited.
And we didn’t know it, but Teddy was wearing fur.
By the end of the year, we had a second puppy, named Chico, and a third, named Babs.
By then, dogs were becoming more diverse, and people were more willing to adopt.
People were asking: “Can you teach me how to be an animal?”
So we started working with animal rescue groups to help our dogs learn to be good dogs.
For years, we’d worked with rescue groups that offered to train dogs to do the tricks in their training videos, such as sit on a crate with their paws up, sit with their head on the crate, and curl up in the middle of a bowl.
We’d teach our dogs to be comfortable in their homes and, as soon as they were adopted, to wear a coat.
The results were very promising.
Our dogs looked and behaved better in our homes than they did in our own.
We weren’t letting our dogs become second-class citizens.
When we adopted Chico two years later, we took him to a shelter.
We knew he had a bad temperament, so we got him a shelter dog, a rescue dog that would help him learn to behave better in a new environment.
He was so happy to be at home with us, and it was a huge help to him.
We didn’t need a new crate, we didn.
Our new dog had a great time at home.
But when Chico was four years old, he had some problems.
He wouldn’t go outside for walks or play, and his nose was getting so sore.
He had trouble staying focused and, after the first day of being in a crate, I told my husband, “This is it.”
It was his last day of his life.
And I couldn’t be happier.
Our rescue dog was perfect, and I wanted to be the first person to tell Teddy about his death.
He told me his name was Teddy, and that it was the last day he’d ever be alive.
Teddy was a very happy puppy.
He didn’t bite or sniff or growl, but he didn: “I’m a good girl, and now I’m a bad girl.”
And he was, in a way, a perfect puppy.
I think I’d been able to tell that Teddy was special.
But Teddy had a problem.
I didn’t tell him to sit on the ground and be a dog.
And my husband didn’t say, “If you’re happy and happy, you can sit in the crate.”
But, like most things, he said, “No, Teddy, we’re not happy.”
So we went home and got Teddy a new puppy, who was a little less happy.
And the next year, Chico started to bite and scratch.
And Teddy was so scared.
He’d scratch his leg and his ear and he’d throw up.
We went to our vet, who diagnosed Chico with canine distemper.
He took him for a checkup and found out that he had canine distension.
Dogs with canine-distension infections are very sick, and usually, they are very contagious.
And they can be very dangerous.
So, Chino’s vet, Dr. Michael Tappert, took him home and put him in a room where he had to stay for six weeks.
It wasn’t an ideal situation.
It didn’t help Chico get used to being in the house with a new owner.
He would be alone and hungry.
He also got really scared.
After six weeks, he started barking at me.
And he would scream at me, saying, “Why are you going to sit here and sit there and not go anywhere?”
It was the same barking that we had been seeing for years.
It started to get really bad.
My husband and I started taking Chico for shots at the vet.
The shots didn’t work.
We thought, “We need to get rid of this dog.”
But the shots were expensive, so the vet kept on giving them.
It took a lot of effort, but eventually, Chaco got rid of the dog.
But it wasn’t over.
He wasn’t happy anymore.
He needed to be isolated.
And so, after three weeks, the vet decided to give Chico