We were a young family with boys ages three and six. We thought it was time to bring a dog into our lives.
We thought we knew what we were doing, what we were getting into. Of course, we didn't, really.
We lived in a three bedroom house with a large yard and no fence. No one else in the neighborhood had yet bothered with fences, either. The main thing was, we had a house, two young boys, and a large yard. We were ready for a dog. We decided we wanted a rescue dog. This would be the least expensive way to get a dog. Purebred dogs were supposed to be expensive, and we really did not know enough about different breeds to have a preference.
Kathy and I went to a shelter in a nearby city to find out what was involved in adopting a dog. The explained the paperwork and the fees, and their requirements. We filled out the paperwork, and went home, waiting for the call from the shelter to let us know whether we had been approved. The call came. We had been approved! All that was left was to pick out a dog and pay the fees.
The boys let us know that the dog's name would be Spike. We hadn't found the right dog, yet, but we had found the right name. I had to work, so I left the selection to Kathy and The Boys. They piled into the car and headed for the shelter.
Once at the shelter, they looked at the available dogs, and selected a three or four month old mixed breed puppy. Spike had brown, white and black markings. She had short hair.
Wait ... Spike? a she? Well, yes. That is what you can end up with when you name your puppy before you pick her out. And when you are three years old, gender doesn't really matter.