We had no idea what she was. A hazard, granted, of bringing home a puppy from the back of an SUV in the lower end of a Walmart parking lot the day before Good Friday.
The lady I got her from claimed the mother was a Husky and showed me a picture on her phone of a Huskey with some puppies. In hindsight, none of those puppies were a golden tan color. None of them were black and tan either, like Angel’s two litter mates I saw.
Months later, I was suspicious.
“What did you think she was when you pulled over with every intention of bringing home a puppy?” Lamar asked me as she curled up in the corner of his arm for a nap. He was already wrapped around her little paw.
“I thought the big hoss I first saw was a shepherd mix. The other brother was black and tan too, but not fluffy. They pulled her out and all I knew was she was adorable and coming home with me.”
I knew when I rescued Pumpkin Bear what her pedigree was. And even though her mother was a German shepherd, Pumpkin looked like a full-blooded border collie. Minus the obligatory bandana; that girl gets angry about a bandana.
But what in the world was this little parking lot puppy?
“Did you get a golden?” my friend Kathe asked when I posted a pic of Angel on Facebook. Kathe has had golden retrievers for decades and knows the breed well. I wondered: was Angel a golden?
“Oh, she’s a pittie!” Brad at the feed store proclaimed. “You got yourself a pit mix, girl. Does Lamar know that’s not a German shepherd yet?”
She didn’t have any characteristics of a pit bull though.
“She looks like Scooby Doo,” was Mama’s suggestion. That I agreed with. She did. She had the appetite of a great dane too. I think that puppy could out eat the Evil Beagle, God rest her mean little greedy soul.
I googled images of different dog breeds: husky and golden retriever, Husky and pit bull, husky and chihuahua. She looked like every one of them. I came across German ghepherd puppies that looked like her too. I think I even found a bunny rabbit crossed with a kangaroo that she looked like. We wondered if a small deer could have cross mated with a dog – she looked like a baby fawn. I still had no clues in the mystery of Angel’s pedigree.
“She doesn’t have any husky in her,” Lamar declared. I didn’t think she did either; she didn’t look at all like a husky. And even though not all huskies have them, she didn’t have the trademark blue eyes.
“What kind of dog has black nails” was my next search in Google. Boxers was the response. And lo and behold, she looked like a boxer mix. Even the color that matched her was called ‘fawn.’ People often mistake boxers as pits too. Maybe I was getting closer.
Boxers are German – that should put her in the same country anyway as Lamar’s favorite breed. “German shepherds do shed excellence,” Cole whispered.
“I still think she’s a miniature great dane,” was Mama’s airtight theory.
“It would be hilarious to wake up one morning and she has had some enormous growth spurt and we have a year old, 175 pound great dane at the foot of the bed,” I said.
It may not be that hilarious, she drools excessively. We may drown.
“Does it matter what she is?” Mama asked.
No, it didn’t. After the summer of heartbreak, where we lost the beagle and our two remaining shepherds within a month, the parking lot puppy and the border collie – or the screaming puppies as Cole collectively called them – had given us the comfort, the peace that only the love of a dog can. They were gently helping us heal. Angel Doodle Loopie-Lou’s puppy antics had been welcomed reprieves in our darkest moments. I think she had even helped Pumpkin work through her grief.
“She’s a dog,” was my Uncle Bobby’s summation. “Just feed her and love her and take care of her. Don’t matter what kind she is; they all good dogs.”
My uncle’s right. They all good dogs.
If she does turn out to be a gigantic good dog however, I just need to know who’s gonna sleep on the couch.