It's A Dog!

Have we ever told you the story about how Lera is a Slovakian immigrant in disguise? Well, it’s true. Some months ago, after church, a member of the congregation asked her, “Now, Lera, where exactly are you from?” Lera replied, “Wyoming,” and received a blank stare. So she clarified, “In the States.” And was thereby met with the most unexpected response. The congregant cleared his throat, embarrassed, and explained that he had thought that she was from Eastern Europe, perhaps Slovakia. In fact, despite the fact that he and Lera had had several short conversations over the course of months, he actually had been under the impression that English was not her first language.

The sad thing about this story is that it has happened more than once. Apparently lots of people think that Lera is Eastern European.

We tell you this story because it is important that you understand that misconceptions are a big part of the lives of Lera and Matthew. Especially, as it turns out, at church.

The congregation is slowly beginning to learn that their beloved organist has left Oxford, has moved to Richmond (into a house only about five minutes’ walk from the church), and that (scandal?) Lera has moved in with him. We don’t think the congregation really minds this fact, and it certainly is not a secret we have been trying to keep. Matthew recently invited the choir to come over to the house in a few weeks for lunch and to meet the new puppy. Lera hasn’t actually seen this email but she is pretty sure that he specifically did say puppy, not new addition, not newest family member, not baby.

So why is it that there seems to be a small miscommunication about the puppy part?

We would like to announce this formally, for clarity’s sake: our new addition, our new family member, our baby…is a DOG. Lera’s three month absence from church was the result of final exams, her retreat to Somerset, and a month of vacation in the States. Her relative roundness upon her return is the result of too much beer and enormous American portions. Her rosy cheeks and healthy complexion are the result of no longer being a stressed, pale, panicky, Oxford student. Lera is not, was not, and frankly never has been pregnant.

It’s a dog. A baby dog.

That’s not to say that Lera and Matthew don’t intend to be the proudest, most doting puppy parents EVER. They spent Saturday exploring Pets at Home and loading up on awesome puppy loot. Moose now is the proud owner of a leash and collar! Food bowls! Toys! Bones! And most importantly, a nice, new, shiny kennel, “The Moosery,” which will be a comfy, Moosey lair for our sweet, Moosey boy (read: DOG).

Tonight, in a parallel Slovakian universe, Valera Nicholsovna downs a glass of vodka, listens to her man play a hymn to the Motherland on the accordion, and rocks her baby to sleep in his bureau drawer.

In this comparatively dull universe, Lera watches “The Dog Whisperer” on TV, wonders if Moose will like freeze-dried liver pieces, and vows to improve her English once and for all. Perhaps she will use Rosetta Stone.

The Search for Moose

Once upon a time, in a land far, far away (at the very end of London's District Line), lived an adorable young couple. The pair, Matthew and Lera, were terribly lonely because no one but the bravest of friends (like Danielle and Caroline) would come to visit them in the distant land. Even though Matthew and Lera lived next to two awesome pubs. And a super-sweet park. In their sadness, Matthew and Lera decided that it was time to find a friend who would take them to the park, go with them to the pubs, and systematically help them get rid of their too-many belongings.

They needed a moose.

No, scratch that. They needed a dog. A dog named Moose.

And so the hunt began. Their journey took them to Cambridgeshire, to Lincolnshire, and to the Peterborough Pizza Express. Finally, after hours of searching in the deepest, darkest, English countryside, the pair landed at Nut Walk Farm: the lair of the Moose.

Weary from their journey...oh, forget it, this fairytale narration is nonsense. We ended up at Nut Walk Farm yesterday afternoon, though don't ask us how we got there because we don't know. We had been in touch with Rachael Reddin, a Portuguese Water Dog breeder (who, incidentally, also couldn't tell you how to get to Nut Walk Farm, despite it being her home), since last March. Her recent litter was born on August 17, so we got to spend the afternoon playing with six five-week-old puppies. Three of them had already been spoken for, though of course none of the puppies will leave the litter until October 12. One of the puppies was tiny--about half the size of his brothers and sisters--and won't be available to take home until he gets bigger. So we had the pick of two puppies--a boy and a girl.

There are a lot of people who offer advice on how to pick a puppy. Someone told us to let the puppy choose us. Cesar Millan says that one should choose the dog with the right energy. Someone else told us not to choose the puppy that walks right up to us, nor the one that hangs back, but the one who waits patiently for its turn. Since we only had two puppies to choose from, we chose the Cesar Millan method.

Because Lera already has a Portuguese Water Dog, a three-year old male, who may or may not ever make the trip to England, it was recommended to us that we get a female, so the two dogs would get along. That said, the moment Rachael brought out the two puppies, it was clear which one was meant to be our new friend.

The puppies had just woken up, so they spent their first few minutes with us groggily stumbling around and slipping on the hard wood floor. The little boy was the first to approach us, but he did so slowly and calmly. The little girl, however, excitedly romped around the room for a little while before approaching us. If memory serves correctly, she approached Lera first and proceeded to use Lera's arm as a tasty chew toy. She also may have peed on Lera but we won't hold that against her.

Both puppies (and in fact, their brothers and sisters) were adorable. They were all silky, black, wavy-haired Porties. At just five weeks old, they were still very small--smaller than an American football. Their eyes were bluish (though they will turn dark) and bright, and they had sharp (!!!), tiny teeth, and puppy breath. Their mother was pretty, energetic, and apparently had been doing a great job mothering her pups. Their father was GORGEOUS. He was muscular, noble, and had the sleekest, silkiest, black hair. These are clearly well-bred dogs.

We had a lovely afternoon meeting the puppies, but only one of them could be our Moose. We chose the little boy, since his energy seemed to match ours well. He was playful and happy but was also mellow, patient, and respectful. He reminded us of Lera's dog, Lander, if not slightly more laid-back.

Our new buddy will not be coming to us at our home at the end of the District Line until he is eight weeks old. We expect to bring him home on October 11, although it is possible that we will have to wait another week due to Matthew's schedule.

On the to do list until then: Find a veterinarian. Buy a kennel and a dog bed. Get food and bowls for food and water. Get toys. Say a tearful goodbye to sleeping through the night, at least for the first few weeks.

For now, the hunt for Moose has ended. And now we wait.