Indiana Jones Joins the Family − November, 1998

For the last several months we've been kicking around the idea of getting a dog. For most of that time, we limited our scope to Labs, Retrievers, or some similarly-sized mutt. One other breed we had briefly considered was the Basenji, but there were no breeders nearby and they were god-awful expensive.

I then read some information on Newfoundlands. Fantastic water dogs, natural "rescuers," and extremely good with children. The Newf shot to the top of our list of candidates. Until we visited a local breeder. The fur. My god, the fur. These big boys shed like you wouldn't believe. The breeder's house looked like every surface had black shag carpeting. And they have a bit of slobbering problem (the dogs, not the breeders).

Still, we thought the Newf was a great dog and it remained a top contender.

One day I came across a few books on Pugs. In general, we hadn't considered the small breeds at all -- it would be like getting a cat, and we didn't want a cat. But I just couldn't resist the so-ugly-their-cute thing they had going on, and the description of their "personality" was hilarious.

I mentioned the possibility of a Pug to my wife.

"No fucking way! I want to get a real dog."

She changed her mind after reading the book. In fact, she all but insisted on getting a Pug.

We eventually found a breeder in a small town about two hours east of Colorado Springs. She only had one Pug left from a recent litter, and she said she wasn't planning on selling him. He had a hernia that the veterinarian had to fix (mother was too vigorous in cleaning him after he was born), a litter-mate had scratched one of his eyes, and he had some sort of bow-leg thing going on with his front legs.

Never give my wife a sob story about an animal. Never. Next thing I know, we're on our way to the breeder's to purchase a slightly damaged Pug puppy.

When the breeder brought out the puppy, it was all over. Seeing that fat, smooth-headed puppy waddle around sealed the deal. The breeder made us promise to have him neutered as soon as he was old enough since she didn't want his bow-legs to re-enter the gene pool. We were soon on our way back home with our newest family member.

Just as most people do with children, we had compiled a list of potential names for our new Pug. We got the list narrowed down to about five names, and as soon as we saw him, we knew which name it would be. His registered name is Doctor Indiana Jones. Indy for short. Indiana when he's been bad.