It took almost two years of debate, planning, pleading, flow charts and a few tears to wear my husband down. He was the last member of our democratic household to vote YES – a dog could join our family. Alice the cat had already cast her vote by responding with two blinks. F.Y.I. for those unfamiliar with cat speak, two slow blinks in a row means “yes” or on very rare occasion “little Jimmy fell down the well”.
My husband agreed with the following conditions (1) It had to be a male dog since he is already outnumbered 4-1 and (2) He has to pick the name. For those that do not know our family or my husband, this meant only one thing. The dog was destined to have a hockey name. Poor thing.
This sparked discussion arguments about names while we searched for the right dog for our family. Just to give you insight into my life, here were the top three names back in January: Lucic , Chico Resch , Gordie. Unfortunately, in this house hockey fans outnumber me 3-1. Poor me.
Our girls suggested the name “Sidney Crosby” after one of their favourite players. Hubby shot that down citing many reasons. Then Olympic fever took hold of our house. For a family that rarely watches television, we had it on day and night. Caught up with patriotism and competitive spirit my husband once again caved and said he would consider #87 IF Canada’s men won the gold medal in hockey.
I suspect most of you know how that turned out. 7 minutes and 40 seconds into overtime…Crosby shoots…he scores…GOOOOOLD! I am not even a hockey fan and I admit that that was a spectacular moment in Canadian sport. We jumped around the family room high fiving and hugging our Olympic party friends. My husband put up his hands to quiet the room. Channelling the spirit of Charlton Heston he loudly announced, “We shall name him Crosby!” More whoops and cheers. Therefore, it was.
In early May we welcomed little Crosby into our home. He is a sweet, gentle, puffy ball of fur with a big personality. We all love him…even Alice. Yesterday on my way home from a walk with The Cros, a man stopped me. He looked to be in his seventies, had a cane and a friendly smile. “Excuse me young lady – ” I stopped to chat somewhat pleased…Crosby attracts a lot of attention when we are out with his cuteness. “Are you walking a pet skunk?” he asked me. Certain I heard him incorrectly I responded with “Pardon me?” “Did you know you cannot keep a skunk as a pet in Ottawa?” the man informed me. Horrified, I looked down at Crosby. He was busy sniffing a tree and luckily did not hear the man’s insulting words. “He’s not a skunk…he’s a dog…a PUPPY!” I explained. “Oh, really?” the man looked doubtful. I was flabbergasted. I scooped the dog up and whispered as we walked away “Don’t you listen to him…you’re so handsome!” Poor Crosby.
I take away three things from that experience. First, it is important to have eye tests done on a regular basis. Second, there is a possibility our dog might not be the bestest looking dog in the whole world. Nah! Third, I might look like the kind of woman that would own a pet skunk and walk it on a leash. (yikes)
Anyway, Crosby and I hurried home. I also felt the need to have a shower and give Crosby a good bath. What a strange day that was…