A History of Saying Hello and Goodbye
Meet Bo, the $10,300 designer dog... and a few of his distant cousins, removed
The prompting and calling for a dog
A few weeks ago a Priority Health representative was sent to our home to inspect and recommend an aging in place plan.
He deemed me elderly and recommended a dog to combat possible isolation and loneliness, apparently a thing for women 65 and older. His suggestion refueled my already overwhelming desire to get a Bernese Mountain Dog, which has been ongoing since 2017.
Rep looked out several windows and admired the view, walked up and down the three short flights of stairs and noted hand railings in place—a plus, and then asked if we planned to reconstruct our bathtub into a walk-in shower (no, dickhead, I’m taking baths until I die). Rep slowly put his coat on, indicating he was finished with this annoying visit, and casually mentioned how sparsely the place was furnished. Not exactly posed as a question, but not quite a mere observation, either. I didn’t bother explaining we had no furniture because we live minimalist and it isn’t our forever home. It was none of Rep’s business.
It was none of Rep’s business, just like it was none of the damn health insurance company’s business to send out a rep to snoop around. What were they going to do if the condo didn’t pass the probe? Suggest we move to a more age-appropriate place for two 65-year olds? Time might have been better spent on lowering our health insurance costs and approving more preventative testing. But I digress.
“If you want a dog you just need to go for it,” says my husband Carl, who’s been extremely patient as I wrestle back and forth with finding the right dog to bring into our home. “It’s a life-changer, so you’d better think about it carefully….”
I (still) want a dog
Last year I brought home my first dog, Izzy. She was a $1,800 9-week old Bernedoodle. Less than 24-hours later little Izzy was brought back to the breeder, marked safe. I had no clue what to do with a puppy that small. I share about it here:
There are plenty of perfect pure bred Berners available, but paying $4,500, the going rate for a gentle giant means I must be absolutely certain it’s what I want, and not what I think I want.
Since the debacle last year I never act on anything because the Izzy incident replays in my head, causing me to be unable to bond with any dog since—says both therapist and dog trainer. So it must be true.
A little history
I have few memories of our family dog, Buffy the black cocker spaniel. I was too small and get the memories of loving my dog blended in with the scent of earthly clay and wax from my crayons, and the mimeograph papers that smelled like paint and whiffs of ink that used to sit on mom’s desk.
I do recall snippets, like getting down on my hands and knees next to Buffy to help her eat the Rival dog food out of her bowl. And the smell of her wet fur that reminded me of freshly fallen snow when she bounded through the house shaking off the water onto the carpet after playing outside most of the day. And I remember saying my nightly prayers down on bended knees beside the bed with Buffy leaning her warm, furry body into mine while I recited “Now I lay me down to sleep…” but she wasn’t allowed to sleep with me.
Mom and Dad brought Buffy home as a premature puppy in a cigar box, years before I was born. 16 years later they had to put her to sleep because her hind legs were failing. After the vet administered the shot he gently placed her inanimate body inside the small pine box my dad made for her. She was buried under the cherry tree in our front yard, where she liked to sit and look out into the distance over the lake and dream of dog things.
I remember the man with a red cap and black rubber boots digging the hole for Buffy, and the little coffin being placed down inside. My mother refused to be there to see Buffy buried. My dad was at work. And to this day I’m not sure why she let me stand there and watch the man with the red cap place the little coffin in the hole and cover it with dirt.
After our Buffy died, my brother and I weren’t allowed to have any animals because my mother couldn’t take losing another child. I didn’t think about ever getting a dog until I met Pard and Magnum, the two Bernese Mountain Dogs I cared for and helped raise back in 2017-2019.
Meet Pard and Magnum, the Bernese Mountain Dogs
Well into my third quarter of life, Pard and Magnum moved into the apartment next door in my building where I lived in Reno, Nevada. Their dog dad was Adam, who was a professor at the local university. We connected when the puppies were seven months old and still growing. Shortly after meeting Adam and the boys on a superficial level, Pard developed separation anxiety and started barking while I was trying to sleep during the day, after working all night.
One morning, before Adam was heading off to work, he stopped me on the sidewalk, and asked if I’d mind checking in on the dogs, and maybe letting them out to do their business—this way he didn’t have to come home between classes to take care of them.
And so my first dog sitting job evolved.
I became their canine nanny on off time. It wasn’t easy for me in the beginning. Magnum ate my glasses. Pard swallowed a gardening glove and it lodged to the side of his tummy and he had to be rushed in for minor surgery. And they both learned to dig tunnels under the pseudo wall that separated the two apartments and managed to get out periodically because my area wasn’t fenced in. There were other mishaps that were somewhat catastrophic but we managed to stay good friends through it all.
Eventually my lease was expiring, the rent quadrupling, and I was left scrambling to find a new apartment. Adam offered to share his one-bedroom apartment with me and we agreed to split the rent until his lease was up and he had to move. I took the bedroom and he took the living room.
Pard and Magnum grew to over 140 pounds each by then and we shared the small space relatively stress-free for five months until Adam’s lease was up, and then we both had to move out. Fast forward we moved in with Joe, another professor from the university, who owned a large house with a big fenced-in back yard; and another roommate named Dave, who had two large Hungarian Vizslas, Moby and Flo.
The four dogs ran the house, the humans had residency but few privileges. Joe and I took much of the responsibility while the other two were woking 9-5 jobs. There were many trials and tribulations (Moby and Flo both had sundowner’s disease and epileptic seizures to name two of the conditions we worked with). The arrangement lasted for almost a year, until I changed jobs, and relocated across the country.
The experiences fueled my desire to get a dog, and the quest to find the perfect conditions and right timing for a Berner of my own. I felt I could and would be a good dog owner.
I wasn’t looking for a designer dog but as time wore on I explored other breeds and the Doodle breed seemed it might be the better way to go. What caught my attention about this particular mix was the hypoallergenic factor and most don’t shed. They are intelligent and have cheerful personalities. They live 12 to 15 years, longer than the Berner who’s lifespan is 9 years on the out, if they’re lucky.
When I see the occasional Designer Doodle mix out for a walk in our neighborhood I find reasons to stop and chat.
There’s the thrice annual visitor who comes to visit her parents and brings her Golden Doodle, Zoe. She and Zoe prance and pace up and down our street a few times daily while they’re here. Both possess frenetic energy, and anxious to get back home so they can both run free - one trains for marathons, the other runs off-leash, and able to roam his countryside freely.
And Gunner the Moyen Berne Doodle who trots up and down our street two or three times daily. He barks and pulls on his leash, eager for attention. Once Gunner recognizes me he’s amiable and allows a short stroke or two, giving time for a brief chat with his mother, Karen.
There are plenty of other of wonderful canines and companions in our HOA neighborhood who amble up and down our street but none above 35 pounds. And I’m not interested in a dog below 40 pounds. Not yet.
So last week when an opening presented to foster with possible forever home opportunity I jumped into it.
Meet Bo the $11,800, 7-month old Bernedoodle
Bo was born March 19, 2023. His future person put a $500 deposit down sight unseen, and committed to the $3,800 price tag paid on delivery. Future Person then instructed Breeder to ship Bo to Trainer as soon as he was ready for puppy fundamentals, obedience, and socialization. Cost for training: $8,000 (variations in weekly pricing, depending on services rendered for 5 months).
Future Person lived in Chicago and headed overseas for a month or so shortly after Bo was born, and promised to return soon for the little bundle of joy.
Only Future Person never claimed Bo. She (finally) paid the bill in full but she didn’t want him any longer. Breeder didn’t want Bo. And Trainer couldn’t keep Bo.
On a foster trial run I got permission to bring Bo home with me.
Welcome home, Bo
“The Phantom Bernedoodle is a friendly, affectionate dog fiercely loyal to its owners. They are wonderful with children and other animals and make excellent family pets. Provided you have plenty of space, time for training and care, and a lot of love to give.” — Daily Paws
I hate to admit it. Bo and I were doomed from the start.
I had the time and patience for training, love and care, so much love to give… and it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t my fault, and it wasn’t Bo’s fault. Our condo and surrounding area lack plenty of space for running, jumping, and being a dog.
Unsolicited opinions from some of my neighbors gave me pause to falter in my decision to keep trying.
“You shouldn’t have a big dog here, it’s a against the HOA rules.”
“You should get a dog from the shelter. Don’t buy one from a breeder. There are so many dogs who need homes.”
More unwanted advice.
“You’re a senior. You should get an older dog or maybe a cat. What happens when you die? Who will take the dog?”
“You’re energetic, the dog fits you, but I don’t think you should have a dog this big and energetic…”
I’m a senior, Bo is a teenager.
Puppies have zoomies, bouts of extreme energy… and then return to normal. Bo stayed in zoomie mode unless crated or out walking. After a week of jog/walking him 4-7 miles a day 3-4 times a day, and deflecting questions from some of the neighbors, it was apparent I couldn’t sustain trying to force Bo to live my way of life.
In fairness to those in the neighborhood who welcomed him with open arms (Dan the pet store guy; Jan my good friend and neighbor; Sue and Mark, across the street; Jo, the friendly, cheerful, HOA secretary; and the BMW guy who came out and asked if we needed shelter from walking in the torrential downpour that day) I thank you, all. And as for the rest who gave their unsolicited opinions, they may get a frosty look in passing, and that’s about it.
After a week I admitted defeat and drove Bo back to the trainer. When Bo jumped out of the car he ran around the yard and never stopped, until I called him to say goodbye.
Breeder is ultimately responsible for Bo and at last point of contact Bo was being advertised for sale as a turnkey dog.
I’m giving up my search for a dog.
A beam of hope came out of this heart wrenching experience. My husband felt terrible about watching me go through this trying time and has now agreed to take my wanting to move seriously:
“We can’t move overseas if we have a dog. Since we aren’t getting a dog I think it’s time to talk about our future. How does Portugal sound?”
Thanks for reading, if you got this far, I commend you… it’s a long read but for me writing this week was a cathartic relief.
See you next week.
The picture with you and Buffy is adorable. 😍 It's unfortunate that things didn't work out between you and Bo. You did the right thing in returning Bo. So, you might be heading to Portugal. I will be staying tuned. 🙂
Hi! oh, I love dogs also! We have had two together and both of them at the end had pretty horrible passings so we made the decision two years ago when we put our beloved Buster Posey down to get another dog. Fortunately, there are a lot of dogs where we live, and we get a lot of dog love daily in our walks first thing in the morning in our neighborhood. Dogs are great, but they don’t live long enough!