Every Dog Has Its (Pay) Day

Marley (of Marley & Me) was the first best-selling hero of what I call the “bad dog” memoirs that have flooded the market over the last six or seven years. In an effort to jump on this gravy train, I have been feeling the urge to commit Lulu’s story to paper. With all the treacly life lessons I’ve learned from our dog, I could make zillions of dollars and retire to a life of leisure, or at least provide for my canines after my demise, a la Leona Helmsley. “Trouble,” Leona’s Maltese terrier, was awarded $12 million dollars when Leona passed away, which means Trouble could buy all six liquor licenses at the mall, a pretty groovy McMansion on the east end of town, and still have a pocketful of chump change for Milk-Bones.

Okay. Back to Lulu, the exploding dog. She came to us via Katie Sell, who used to work as a vet technician. Katie adores all dogs but seems to have a soft spot for pit bull mixes. We were a one-dog family again after a disastrous experience with a second dog, a purebred with a penchant for varmints, stealthy escapes and yodeling. We had gotten the second dog because the first dog, also a purebred, was neurotically devoted to me and wanted nothing to do with the boys.

Second dog loved first dog to distraction. She also loved barking, digging and threatening our younger son on a daily basis. After several near-misses of my son’s jugular, we decided the little tyrant would have to go back to the breeder. Taylor took the boys to Hershey Park for a Mason family reunion and I packed the offensive little biter into the car, dropped her off in Tabernacle, and was plagued with guilt for a good 12 minutes. My older son had loved that adorable, furry ball of evil, and I knew how upset he was going to be.

Several months later I was still harboring the second dog desire when I ran into Katie Sell. She caught me perusing the want ads at the animal hospital and asked me if I might know someone looking for a dog. This dog was a female pit bull mix that had been horribly abused. She had been thrown from a moving car and had broken her tail, pelvis and front left leg. She was emaciated from malnutrition, with mange, inflamed skin and patchy fur. The good doctors at the animal hospital, noting her sweet temperament, had nursed her back to health and were now looking for a good home for her. Katie, also a sucker for a dog tale, already had several foundlings and couldn’t take her. Was I at all interested? Does a dog have fleas?

I arranged a "meet-and-greet" in our backyard. The boys were still longing for their own dog and, quite frankly, I was hoping a second dog would jumpstart Beanie, who, at 4 years old, was the most slug-like, lethargic dog I had ever owned. We were all pacing restlessly in the backyard when Katie arrived with the little fawn-colored pup. She ran right over to Beanie, tail wagging, then turned to the boys. It was love at first sight. (Or was it smell?) Whatever it was, they were all soon tumbling around together, playing, and it seemed a given that the slight little rescue dog had found a home. We named her Lulu.

Within days of her arrival, we discovered an abused dog is not without its baggage. Lulu was afraid of everyone except her pack, which consisted of our immediate family. She was terrified of my mother, a tiny woman with the kindest of hearts, and would bark incessantly from the moment my mother entered our house. Lulu also loved to chew everything from flip-flops to treasured baseball caps.

Perhaps because of the punishment she endured, Lulu’s digestive tract was a mess. For the first several months, everything she ate would make a return appearance. We tried so many different “sensitive stomach” formulas I could have written a report on the holistic ingredients in each concoction. Lulu also liked to escape from our backyard and forage for delectable carcasses, which would reappear in our house hours later in the form of a horrific explosion. Or six. We tried very diligently not to let her escape, but we have a creek that trickles behind our house. This creek inspired her to escape, like some latter-day explorer intent on discovering a new passageway to Wawa.

Nine years hence, and Lulu has mellowed tremendously. There are no more power sprints around the house. She will occasionally play tug of war, but she no longer likes going for walks or having her nails done. She still adores Beanie, who submits to her grooming every once in awhile when he’s too lazy to move.

People are afraid of pit bulls, with good reason. Whenever anyone comes to our house, Lulu tucks her tail between her legs and barks ferociously. I try to explain that she is protective, not aggressive, but with her boxy, pit bull head she can be very intimidating. She's an excellent watchdog and takes her job very seriously, which is a comfort to me.

We recently discovered she is also part beagle, which means she is a bea-bull. Lulu was a trendsetter before she knew it! After all, dog breeders are now crossing several breeds to create mongrels, like labradoodles and cockapoos, and charging hefty fees for pups that used to be called mutts, or half-breeds.

Lulu loves her pack in that slavishly grateful way only rescue dogs seem capable of. Whether I’ve been gone five minutes or five hours, she is always right there at the door, tail wagging, to welcome me home. She is a clown in dog’s clothing, a fiercely loyal, goofy girl.

Now, if only I could recoup the money we’ve spent on fences, cleaning and vet bills via a best-selling dog story.