By: Emma Reed
A week after my partner and I returned from our honeymoon, we welcomed our first dog into our home. Bella, just a year old, had already been in three different homes before us. We adored her for the entirety of her life. Bella was my comfort during the heartbreak of losing two pregnancies and my joy when I welcomed our sons into the world. She moved with us from our first apartment to various places until we finally had the resources to buy a house with a spacious fenced yard and a dog door just for her. At fourteen years old, we laid her to rest beneath our favorite pear tree outside the bedroom window—her cherished spot where she would spend hours watching the birds and lazily barking at squirrels.
I wouldn’t call myself a “dog person,” but my love for Bella was undeniable. After her passing, I initially thought we would take a break from having a dog. However, within days, I realized that was not going to happen. My children were heartbroken, my partner was glum, and our home felt empty without the gentle patter of paws on our old wooden floors.
I set some guidelines for our next dog: shelter rescue, small to medium size, housebroken, and ideally non-shedding. I was prepared to wait for the perfect match. Just two days later, my partner sent me a photo of a pup at the local shelter. This little one was just eight weeks old, nowhere close to being housebroken, and destined to grow larger than I had anticipated. Plus, that scruffy coat was sure to shed everywhere!
I had scrolled through countless puppy pictures without a flicker of emotion, but the moment I saw her sweet little face, I knew she was meant to be a part of our family. The shelter received hundreds of applications for her, but when we visited, my boys cried when it was time to leave. I could barely hold back my tears, thinking of that little creature spending another night alone in a shelter. I assured my kids that if the shelter didn’t select us, another dog would surely come our way soon.
But the shelter did choose us, and out of all those applications, we were the fortunate ones. Our little girl is named Ruby, and she has been with us for over two years now. She grew from an adorable puppy into the most charming adult dog imaginable. Her wiry coat has turned into a wild tangle that requires constant grooming. She loves to steal dish towels and my kids’ toys, and she even tolerates me putting her hair in ponytails. Ruby has never barked in the house and is truly the sweetest and most loving dog we could ask for.
Except for one minor detail: she’s a sprinter. If she spots an open door, she bolts out faster than you can blink. Although she usually returns, it’s a mystery how long she will be gone, where she will wander off to, and why she thinks this is a fun game.
Fortunately, she doesn’t try to dig under or jump the fence. (Well, there was that one time last spring when she found a gap in the fence and rolled in mud puddles until her ID tag fell off, then decided to visit our new neighbors two houses down. They thought she was a stray and gave her a bath while posting her picture online. I was beyond mortified.) Most of the time, she doesn’t need to escape; she knows her best chance for freedom lies in waiting for the perfect moment when my son Leo, nearly five, leaves the door ajar. It seems I raised him in a barn, as he doesn’t have a clue how to shut a door.
Ruby patiently waits for Leo to leave the door open, watching through the fence as I pull into the driveway. If my partner is with me, she stays put, aware that one loud, “Ruby!” from him will send her scurrying back home. However, she completely ignores my frantic shouts for her to return. If I’m alone with the kids, she sneaks to the dog door, and the moment it’s unattended, she bolts through the house at lightning speed and out the front door to explore.
Before I even realize what’s happening, she’s three houses down, barking at a neighbor’s French mastiff named Duke. Duke, eager to join the fun, hops his fence, and the toothless chihuahua from next door often joins the pack, too. I’ve even spotted them wandering with a cat. It’s like a scene from “Oliver and Company,” but far less charming and utterly embarrassing.
Last night, I noticed that Duke’s owner had installed an invisible fence. I can’t help but think Ruby is the reason. (Let’s be honest—I know she is.) In the two years since Ruby came into our lives, I’ve chased her on foot while pulling a toddler in a wagon. I’ve waddled through the streets, heavily pregnant, calling for her while battling tears from those pesky pregnancy hormones. Once, I stood on the porch, shaking a box of treats as if it were a maraca, hoping she would come home.
The most ridiculous moment was when I drove around my neighborhood at five miles per hour, holding hot dogs out of the driver’s side window, praying that she would catch the scent and hop in the car.
Last spring, Leo flung open the door to greet his brother coming off the school bus, and Ruby seized the opportunity. Instead of coming back, Leo threw his backpack and took off after her. I quickly loaded Leo (and our newborn daughter!) into the van and sped off, but Leo was nowhere to be found. I lost my mind, driving up and down the street, shouting his name out the window, convinced he’d fallen into an old-timey well like in a “Lassie” episode. Ruby may be sweet, but she’s no heroic collie, and I knew she wouldn’t be alerting the authorities.
After a tense exchange with a neighbor who mistakenly thought I was yelling at him instead of searching for my son, Leo and Ruby eventually emerged from behind a stranger’s house, Ruby proudly trotting alongside my beaming first-grader. It was the only time in my life I’ve both laughed and cried simultaneously, like a cartoon villain. My kids and Ruby were terrified.
Ruby’s latest adventure involved dashing out the door still a bit damp from her bath, without her collar on. She spent the night in someone’s garage, while I comforted my sobbing children, who feared she was lost forever. Thanks to social media, we were reunited the next day, and she’s been home without incident ever since. Perhaps being locked in a stranger’s garage was her version of a “Scared Straight” episode.
I know the dedicated dog lovers out there might judge me, believing I should somehow outsmart Ruby every single time. But I’ve tried! She’s fast, and I’m often distracted. We’re doing our best over here. Ruby is loved, well-fed, and treasured by a family of five. She has a fenced-in acre to play in, a dog door, a doghouse, and everything a pup could ever want. She’s just a little mischievous and loves to run. You can’t fault a girl for wanting to explore.
Ruby is incredibly good in every other respect. She is the sweetest, most affectionate, and endearing dog you could imagine. She adores my children and often rests her head on my lap while I write, providing a calming presence. It’s hard to believe that this adorable creature is the same disobedient dog that occasionally gathers a multi-species crew for an evening of neighborhood escapades.
For more insights and stories, check out this other blog post to keep you engaged: Home Insemination Kit. If you’re looking for authoritative information on home insemination, visit Cryobaby Home Intracervical Insemination Syringe Kit Combo. Additionally, for comprehensive information on fertility, refer to this excellent resource on In Vitro Fertilization.
Summary:
This article recounts the journey of Emma and her family as they navigate the joys and challenges of dog ownership, particularly with their mischievous pup, Ruby. From the initial heartbreak of losing their first dog, Bella, to the adventurous antics of Ruby, the story highlights the emotional bond between pets and their families. Despite Ruby’s occasional escapades and her knack for escaping, she remains a beloved and cherished member of the family.