|Mason at 10 weeks old|
For almost a year I had researched what kind of dog I wanted. At first, it was a pug, but they shed too much. Finally, I decided I wanted a purebred maltese. Perfect, I thought. I found a lady in Chantilly that bred maltese puppies. We chatted a few times and as many questions as I asked her, she asked me more. It was like I was adopting a child. She called me on a Friday evening and told me she had three male maltese puppies that were ready to go. She also had two male "maltipoos" (maltese/toy poodle mixes) that were also ready. I hate the name maltipoo and knew I didn't want a mutt, but a pure bred dog.
The next morning I was so excited I couldn't stand it. The breeder lived just a few miles from us and we were at her house by 9:30 a.m. She had these five little white fluffballs running around and they were all adorable. The purebred maltese puppies were very tiny, but fiesty. The two maltipoo puppies were just doing their own thing. How was I going to choose which one I wanted? Kenny told me to just sit on the floor with these puppies and the one that comes to me is "the one". I really, really wanted a purebred dog. I did what Kenny said and sat there. Finally, this little maltipoo puppy came over to me and fell asleep in my lap. I couldn't believe it. He was the one! So, the breeder marked the inside of his ear with a black marker, so she knew he was ours. I couldn't possibly take him home that day, I wasn't prepared. He would be coming home with us the following Friday.
I reread all of my books that night. I needed a crate, x-pen, bowls, toys, blankets, etc. I was ready. How hard could it be to raise a puppy? The books told me everything I needed to know. Don't let dogs on the furniture. Don't let them sleep in your bed. Be the pack leader. Yes, I was ready.
The first weekend Mason was with us he slept the entire time. I thought something was definitely wrong with him. I immediately called his vet and she assured me that he was just a little stressed from being away from his littermates and that he would get used to us in no time. By Sunday evening he was used to us. He ran around the house like crazy, starting biting and attacking our feet, and would bark at us. Are you kidding me? What had I gotten myself into?