About 2 months ago my wife and daughter went to the regional rescue shelter and picked out a dog. They brought home what they thought was an eight month old chihuahua mix. It turned out to be a six month old, mostly patterdale terrier terror. He was so calm and disoriented at first he lulled us into a false sense of easy transition into puppy care. About 3 days after we got him he began to show his terrier nature. He has as far as we know limitless energy, although he does nap in between crazy bouts of leaping toothy frenzy. He is a master of the squeaky toy, riffing madly on both ends of small a plushy animal after he shakes the life out of it.
We have had some trials early on. He broke a toe and needed to wear a splint, but after two weeks of trying to keep him from chewing it off we finally gave up and just tried to reduce his exercise and all out crazed sprinting. Even with the splint on he managed to escape our yard, cross many streets. Mary was only able to retrieve him with the use of his favorite squeaky friend. He is all id and impulse, a toddler that will never grow up. Hopefully he will calm down a bit.
We also drove to California and back with many side trips and strange places which he handled so much better than we expected. He slept most of the long drives and had no major accidents in the car or strange houses. He in fact did much better than he does at home. We also found out that Charlie hates the ocean. He tolerates water that is not moving as long as he is not put in it. The waves at the beach are too much, and he strains every muscle to escape. Even when you hold him he cannot relax.
I am not a dog person. I never have been, but since I am unemployed dog care has mainly fallen to me. I take care of him, walk him, and play with him (never enough for his insatiable energy). As a result I am his person. I will not be writing about him regularly as if he was a member of my family, but he has been a big part of my summer. So I guess now I am a dog person at least to one dog.