Daisy and Gretchen

There was no doubt about it that we were coming home with a puppy that August Saturday.  The night before we had scoped out an online newspaper classified, and mentally prepped ourselves for a morning drive, which by the way instigated a restless slumber.  The location is now hazy but we headed east for an hour and a half or so until we were a mere 5 minutes from the ad’s listed address.  Of course we didn’t just want to pop in unannounced and since neither of us bothered to actually find out if any puppies still remained in the litter, a phone call was warranted.  A pay phone, yes I said pay phone, was the mode of communication that day as the mountains provided no mobile coverage in 2002.

The conversation was rather short and needless to say the recipient of the call was very surprised to hear that we were actually in the area. Because nobody just happens to be in the middle of nowhere and what two people travel that distance without first making contact to ensure the prize was indeed available let alone if anyone would be home.  The only thing I can say was that we were driven by a two year wanting of a puppy, which finally would come to pass with the purchasing of our first home two months earlier and the abandonment of a 650 square foot San Ramon, CA apartment.

After waiting an additional 5-10 minutes before heading over as we did not want him to think we were so anxious and just up the road, we traveled the final leg of our journey.  Down the dirt, pine tree laden road was a ramshackle red barn, a few non-functioning autos and a multitude of debris one expects to find on a stereotypical mountain farm.  And the man who greeted us was perfectly matched, attire, mustache, and all.  As we exited our 96 Ford Explorer so did 14 seven week old German shorthaired pointers from the clapboard barn as if we were watching a scene from 101 Dalmations.  There was no way in hell we were leaving without a shorthair of our own!