When the Snoring Stops

We just surpassed the one hundredth day since Ellie Mae the rescue dog, came into our home. She has not replaced Dozer the Bulldog, but rather, joined him in a lengthening parade of pets who have each claimed a part of our hearts. 

Dozer, a kennel-bred, pedigreed, papered, licensed and registered rockstar, was Master of the Universe and he knew it. Everywhere he went, people kowtowed to him, acknowledging celebrity status and fawning over him. The Doze accepted it as his due.

Honnnnnnnk-shoooooooo...zzz...
Honnnnnnnk-shoooooooo...zzz...

He could be arrogant, aloof, indifferent, snobbish and a prima donna, and we would love him all the more for it. His comical facial expressions kept us-and guests-in stitches, fulfilling an oft-stated principle: As a farm dog, Dozer is useless, but highly entertaining, nonetheless.

Gluten-Free Mama and I debated the pros and cons of another English bulldog. Though the pros were obvious and needed no discussion, the cons related to the inevitable health issues that bulldogs routinely undergo, such as bronchial issues and the enlarging of their hearts. 

Bulldogs, originally bred to control angry bulls, have not benefited from the smashed-in-face, as opposed to the more typical extended snout. Dogs have infinitely more olfactory capability than we humans, being able to detect aromas from vast distances, and the bulldog is no exception. Still, over time, the path humans have created for them, gives the average English bulldog a lifespan of seven years. 

We did not purchase Dozer but acquired him for the simple reason that he stayed with us so frequently, as a result of his designated human being a Cal-Fire dude, that it was eventually deemed best for everyone (especially Dozer) if he came to live with us full-time.

I guess this made Dozer a rescue dog also.

Always regal

When we got to the point where we wanted to bring another dog into our home, we contacted Maggie from the Inland Mendocino County Humane Society, and after much back-and-forth dialogue, acquired Ellie Mae.

Ellie is not arrogant, aloof, indifferent, snobbish or a prima donna; she is sweet, anxious to please, accommodating, sensitive to my moods and everything we had hoped she would be. She is not perfect but we did not want a stuffed animal for our bed, we wanted a real, live dog.

Ellie Mae wants to go where I go, she mopes when Gluten-Free Mama leaves and she sleeps on our bed for the most part like a grateful middle schooler, at her first slumber party with the cool kids: She stays out of the limelight towards the foot of the bed, and doesn’t snore.

Dozer the bulldog used to sound like an ad for a mattress company. Imagine an English bulldog representing a famous mattress company! When the snoring stopped, I always took note. Though the bowser religiously got his twelve hours in, there was always the quick pit stop outside, to make it through the night, dry.

Perpetually smiling

Ellie Mae is silent, she has never once asked to be let out and she snuggles with me, instead of on top of me. Believe me, when you have 52 pounds draped over your legs, you’re not going anywhere except numb.

Ellie Mae drops what’s she’s doing and accompanies me to the recliner couch, when it’s siesta time, the way any dog worth her salt would do. She does not have a repertoire of different comical looks, the way the Doze did; in point of fact, her facial expression never seems to change much.

She’s smiling like a Cheshire Cat.

Who is the luckier one? Ellie Mae or me?