Life with the WMD: Beginnings

There are three certainties in life. Death, taxes and border collies. I have no doubt that A. A. Milne's inspiration for Tigger was a border collie — quite possibly one that had a run-in with a vat of orange paint.

In February of 2002 when Fiona came to live with us, our lives changed. You see... Border collies are not just dogs. For starters, they're clearly masters of the Jedi Mind Trick™. When I first met Fiona, she was covered in poop. Her own poop. To say that she was exhibiting some mild separation anxiety would be sort of like saying that having your own head explode into a fine mist was a mild headache. Amanda swears that the first time she met Fiona, the dog was flinging herself violently into the glass wall of her kennel. Yup. We had no choice but to bring her home.

It took a while to get her into our house, though. Sanity prevailed for a while. We told ourselves she wasn't the right dog. And then we both changed our minds. Well, at least Amanda changed hers enough to let me shoot my own foot off. So I ambled over to the pound to pick her up. She was gone. They told me which rescue group had taken her. So I called them.

"Oh... She's already been placed," they said. Well... that's that.

I'd later learn that "she's already been placed" meant she already had a foster home. Three weeks later, Wickett and I met Fiona together at the PetSmart on Parker Road at 75 in Plano, and he pronounced her a worthy sister. Perhaps she remembers that moment and that is why she doesn't actually kill him when he decides to eat out of her supper dish every year or two. Not to say that she won't throw him violently across the kitchen... But, she hasn't killed him.

The second day Fiona lived with us, I was taking her for a walk around the neighborhood. About a mile from the house, a loud car drove by, and she flipped out. She pulled out of her collar and ran. Ran like the wind. This was not good. She has been out of the pound barely 24 hours, and now she was loose again with no ID. Oh no. I remember calling Amanda hoping she would answer and could come home to help me look for her. I remember the looooong walk back to the house and asking folks if they had seen a black dog run by.

What is etched into my brain, though, is the sight of Fiona sitting inside the wrought iron fence in our front yard. Apparently, it seems, that we were keepers in her book. When frightened, she had made a beeline for the house, jumped the fence, and sat waiting for my return.

"What took you so long," those big brown eyes seemed to ask. "I've been worried. And hungry. Don't forget hungry."

Later, we'll learn how Fiona cheated on the quizzes at obedience school and was expelled from agility class...