And then there was Dog . . .

I think it was January of 1998 that Don and I bought a condominium in Santa Ana and moved to it.

Again, I made certain to check the rules about animals before purchasing. The CC&R’s (covenants conditions and restrictions) for the co-op (like an association) stated that the allowance was one pet, no more than about 30 pounds, not to be walked in the central courtyard.

“Hmmmm. I guess we already meet the pet quota with Archimedes…but perhaps after we get to know our neighbors they’ll agree to let us have a dog too,” says I to myself.

After 10 months I got brave enough to ask our co-op’s president if she thought the neighbors would mind if Don and I got a dog. Unfairly, I pointed to her poodle, Josh, that she was walking as I said this. I meant to indicate that I intended to find one about Josh’s size if allowed, but it might have had the affect of looking like “if you can have one, I should be able to also.”

“Why would they mind?” she replied.

“Well, because we already have Archimedes.”

“Oh, they probably don’t even know you have a cat.”

“Ohhh, Louise, they must. He sits on the front balcony (that overlooks the busy sidewalk) and bellows when he spots a passer-by (yes, his old habit of trying to embarrass us by pretending to have been abandoned had remained intact when he arrived at his new balcony. Clearly he was delighted that there was more foot traffic below.)

“Does he? I’ve never noticed.”

Well, this was enough for me. No sense in requesting a co-op vote. If Louise said “try it” I was for that.

I’d been researching dog breeds for about four years (when we had to give up Teddy, I’d started a search for a medium to toy size “apartment” dog), and had decided that an Italian Greyhound (AKA “IG”, or “Iggy”) met most of the criteria of what I wanted and didn’t want in a dog….(A Borzoi would have been my first choice if it weren’t for that pesky size restriction.) So I set about looking into the acquisition of an Italian Greyhound. The rescue society asked me if I was truly prepared for an Italian Greyhound. Did I know, for example, that their love of jumping often resulted in owners returning home to discover the dog had been on the kitchen counter and refrigerator top?

“No. ‘Didn’t know that. Seriously?”

“Yes, and they have extremely fragile legs as pups so you must restrain them from their love of jumping. At the very least they will be hopping from sofa to chair to any other furniture surface available.”

The breed was still so appealing to me in all other respects though, that I decided I’d just keep a look-out for one at the local animal shelters and it would just take as long as it was meant to take.

Don offered to be the one to make the rounds, “It’s really hard to leave an animal shelter without being able to help all those sad faces. I’ll do it so you don’t have to.”

On his first day of the intended IG vigil, I got a call at work: “Now, if you’re heart is really set on an Italian Greyhound, you won’t want to look at this dog I found…but he is very cute and I think you would like him.”

“No.” I said, “I’d better not look at him. I think I’m pretty set on an Iggy.”

“O.K.”

Ten minutes later, another call from Don: “He’s got a long nose.”

“OK, I’ll look at him after work.” I’d decided this because I could tell that Don had formed a little attachment, and I admit, I was curious about his cuteness.

I knew that I’d probably agree with Don about this dog he had found, but I wanted to make sure we weren’t missing any IG’s out there, so I stopped at two other animal shelters before visiting the one Don had. I’d not seen an IG anywhere, but I did see a couple of cute toy dogs. On I went to the final stop to look at the dog Don wanted me to see. Don was now at work so was not with me, but he’d told me just which kennel to look in.

The dog was being held in a separate area for the one or two dogs that have been retained longer than the usual 3 days before being “put down” because the animal shelter employees believe them to be particularly adoptable for their character and appearance. He’d been there four days and was living on borrowed time.

This particular animal shelter also provides veterinarian service, so our new part-Spaniel, part-who-knows-what, one-year (or so) old dog, arrived in his new home with all his shots.

Because I’d always thought it would be great fun to have a dog along on our many camping trips, my mind turned toward that vision when I began trying to think up a name for him. His coat is white and orange so I was trying to think of something in nature that might apply, and landed on “Jasper” (an opaque, semi-precious stone that is found in many colors, but the one I remembered having seen, was red). Don agreed, Jasper it was. When I told my Dad about our new dog and the conversation came around to his name, Dad laughed uproariously when I answered, “Jasper”. Apparently this recalled for him a character from some series (The Jasper series from the 1940s?) and envisioning a dog as that character was hilarious. That his name brought laughter right from the start has been appropriate for our little clown dog.

Jasper's crew-cut trim.




Jasper prefers his Haight-Ashbury look.