I was 11 years old the summer we adopted our first dog. Although he said we were only going to take a look, I’m sure my dad knew that he would have to take the dog with my sister and me in tow. She came running out of her current owner’s house and did laps around the yard. Rachel and I found this very amusing. About a year old, her ears were huge and her tongue hung out the side of her mouth. Her name was Barbie but we changed it to Jaime.
Jaime loved living out in the country with our big yard. She and the neighbor’s dog, Bear, (also a German Shepherd) had quite the fling. Jaime would Houdini her way off the long lead and visit him, frequently returning home smelling like the horse pasture on our neighbor’s land. On her best days, she’d go for a swim in their pond and show up just in time for dinner. Rachel and I would tag-team giving her a bath before she was allowed back in the house.
She didn’t care though; Jaime loved the hose, as well as playing frisbee, and chasing our ratty old soccer ball around the yard. She was sweet and goofy, but like all good Shepherds she was also very smart. She looked out for Rachel and I, sleeping in our bedroom every night.
That Thanksgiving, thanks to her rendezvous with Bear, she gave birth to 8 puppies. Rachel and I missed the birth and were disappointed, though Daddy assured us we should be glad we were not there for that clean up. He bought a kiddie pool and a dog playpen, and set them up in our dining room. Our very own dog nursery.
Jaime was a good mom, although she would occasionally roll over onto puppies as they tried to nurse. Rachel and I were always sitting right there, watching, and would wriggle them out from under her swollen belly. We adored having puppies. We watched them grow until they were crawling around the playpen, their tiny puppy barks sending us into laughing fits.
Call us crazy, but we drove to Georgia over Christmas break. My dad, Rachel, me, Jaime and all 8 puppies squished into our van and made the 12-hour drive, kiddie pool included. When we came home it was time to start looking for their permanent homes. I knew we couldn’t possibly keep them all but it was sad to see them go. We had given them all names by then. I don’t remember them all now but my favorite was a fluffy boy we called Fozzie, as in Fozzie Bear from the Muppets.
The following Christmas Jaime had a litter of 9 puppies. Again, Rachel and I missed the birth and again, my dad insisted we were better off. One of the puppies went to a friend of a friend so we were able to watch him grow up through pictures and an occasional play day.
I was in the 7th grade and Jaime was only about 3 years old when one day she ran off and didn’t come home for dinner. We looked and looked for her, checking at the SPCA several times, but we never saw her again. Since she didn’t turn up anywhere, including the side of the road, we assumed someone found her and took her in. I like to think she lived happily with her new family until old age caught up to her.
She was a good dog for sure. Perfect for two little girls and their daddy.
❤ JK
photo credit: Jon Dubin
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