Ballou

I’ve never been a dog person, or maybe it was that my mother was SUCH a dog person, I thought I wasn’t. Up to this point in my life, I’ve always been a cat-girl. Last year, as I’ve written about before, my beloved twenty-one-year-old cat, Snapper, died, while we were on vacation. It was expected, she had been losing weight, and looking frail, so none of us were surprised. That was June.

By August I was ready for another member of the family, and this time we went looking for a dog. Our first choice was a golden retriever. Not the right time of year to look for golden retriever puppies I guess, or, we were fated for something different. We searched and searched and couldn’t find the right dog. To say Doug is picky, well, is an understatement. By the time we got to the last place we were going to look, the boys and I honestly would’ve taken ANY dog.

We looked at a couple, and then someone brought us the cutest, sweetest black cocker spaniel. I’m pretty sure I teared up. I have always loved cocker spaniels, but my (mean) mother, would never let us have one; she was a Pomeranian fan. Anyway, I don’t want to get sidetracked on a mom-rant, I immediately fell in love with this little black puppy. I had never seen a black cocker before and found out they are called black and blues because they are so black, it has a blue tinge to it.

I think Doug took one look at me with this puppy and knew we had finally found “the one.” There wasn’t any way I was leaving without him, and Doug knew it. I think I even, through my tears, told him that I had always wanted one . . . blah, blah, blah. Doug has his moments of sweetness, it isn’t in the top five words I’d use to describe him, but he DOES have his moments and that dog was mine. Of course, it was Frank’s in name, but it was clearly, indisputably, mine.

Doug has always wanted a golden retriever named Mojo. Beckett has a little stuffed golden (that my mom, yes the mean one, got for him), and he calls it Mojo. So, Mojo was out for the name because it is reserved for another dog we’ll have at another time.

I didn’t want to name him Blue (I’m the mother of a five-year-old, then four, Blue is a female dog that looks for clues). I kept playing around with variations of blue, and came to Ballou (you know, Jungle Book, not Cat). Doug liked it, which is amazing (very picky remember?) and the name stuck.

Ballou was born three days after my mother died. That is significant to me. I’ve never told anyone that. I don’t think it dawned on Doug and I have no reason to tell him. It is my own little bit of something.

Ballou is a great dog. Many people have told us that cocker spaniels are prone to mean streaks, but Ballou has none of that. He is sweet and patient, even with Beckett, who, as he gets older, pulls his ears less and less. Ballou isn’t just my dog anymore. He is Doug’s dog, sometimes. He is Frank’s dog, sometimes. He is Beckett’s dog, sometimes. And he is my dog, sometimes. Beckett calls Ballou his brother. We’re happy to have him in our family.