The Ultimate Sacrifice

We all have those moments -- and they are few and far between -- that give us pause. That make us really stop and think ... that cause us to re-examine the "bigger picture."

I had one of those moments when I opened the refrigerator this morning.

I was so disgusted by what I saw that I squinted to make sure my vision was okay. Then I closed the refrigerator door and opened it again hoping -- praying -- it was gone. But it was still there.

The "it" that had rocked my world was a big glob of slobbery black dog hair stuck to the egg carton.

That's right ... my "aha" moment was thanks to our 5-month-old Newfoundland puppy, Indy, and his incredible penchant for delivering nasty, paste-like puddles of drool.

Indy arrived home in mid-April to much fanfare and with great big doggy shoes to fill. His predecessor, Viking, was by all accounts the perfect pooch (minus the shedding, barking, and separation anxiety issues). Sadly, Viking and Indy were together only for three weeks before Viking became sick and had to be put to sleep.

We chose to get a Newf, in part, because we knew another Lab could never replace Viking. We also chose a Newf because of the breed's reputation for being wonderful family dogs.

We did our research. Really, we did. We read the books, the blogs, and the bright, flashing neon warning signs. We asked all the right questions and carefully pondered the frightening answers.

We knew we were in for a beast of a dog (150+ pounds), a mountain of shedding, and an unsettling amount of saliva. We did not know, however, that Indy would turn our house and lifestyle upside down in a matter of months.

But this morning, it all came into focus.

Seeing the gooey fur ball stuck to the egg carton was like a slap in the face ... an ice water bath ... a punch in the gut. However you want to phrase it, it was a wake up call.

This dog, for all his sweetness and loyalty, is a vile creature. 

A few days before Indy came home for the first time, I read online that "You can't be a Newf owner and be house proud."

I now know what that means.

When he isn't dragging rocks, bugs, and sticks into the house, he has long strands of drool trailing from his muzzle. We are actually going to have to buy him a bib.

When he isn't shredding our door mats into millions of tiny scraps, he is dropping jet-black tumbleweeds on our beige carpets. I have already bought 2 vacuums since bringing him home.

When he isn't "paw painting" with mud on the glass doors, he is climbing INTO our dishwasher to help with the mess. Clean or dirty dishes, he doesn't discriminate. It's all fair game.

When he isn't eating goose poop, he is tipping his water dish over and then rolling around in the spill. Newfs are water rescue dogs, and I am convinced he thinks there is something to save at the bottom of his bowl.

When he isn't puncturing the leather furniture with his puppy vampire fangs, he is giving off a smell so disgusting that a complete stranger told us, "Your pup needs a bath." I have now purchased a doggy deodorizer, 2 kinds of fragrant puppy shampoo, and some sort of fur wipes that contain awapuhi, whatever that is.

Yes, this is my life. My life with a Newf. And this Newf came exactly as advertised.

But for all his nastiness, I wouldn't change a thing -- not his shedding, not his drooling, and not even his smell (well, okay, maybe his smell).

Despite his flaws and foibles, this big fur ball has made me shrug my shoulders and stop fighting the battle.

Dog fur in my yogurt? No problem. 

Drool stains on my freshly dry cleaned pants? Whatever.

High heel as a chew toy? You got it.

The reality is, none of it matters. All of that is just material. The carpet can be vacuumed. The drool can be wiped away. And the chewing is bound to get better at some point.

We chose Indy for our children.

After Julianna was attacked by a dog last year, it was important to us that she become comfortable around large dogs again.

We also knew that LJ would have a difficult time coping when Viking passed away, and we wanted to help ease that pain.

We wanted to find a breed -- for both of the kids -- that would be a good fit for them. Never mind the Newf's flaws, as glaring as they may be.

It's what I like to call the "ultimate canine sacrifice."

We parents do it all the time.

It's a family vacation to Disney instead of a second honeymoon to Hawaii. It's a sleepless night checking on a feverish child every couple of hours. It's a minivan instead of the much more stylish two-door roadster.

In our case, it's a Newf. A 6-10 year sentence with a 60-lb. bull in dog's clothing who will triple in size by the time he is 2.

But when the fur, the slobber, and the smell start to get to me, I just remind myself of that old adage ...

When life gives you Newf slobber, just make scrambled eggs.

Or something like that.