Mikey was the cutest, sweetest dog I ever met -- and I was absolutely incapable of dealing with a puppy. Pee, poop, chew. The house smelled like a stable and any number of things had been mangled (e.g., frames of my expensive eye glasse) or completely destroyed.
Once Alton was out of the house and I was back in it, I finally decided that something had to change. I wasn't capable of giving Mikey the concentrated attention he needed.
So I called, Nancy, the dog breeder from whom I'd gotten Mikey, and said, "help!" Apparently the online Welshie internet triage network went into overdrive. A couple of days later I had e-mail back from Nancy saying that the woman whose Welshies I'd visited in the fall of 2001 in Houston had a friend, one half of a well-to-do, newly married couple, who was looking for a young Welshie for show purposes.
"Great," I said, "send 'em on over."
They showed up one evening in early November, navigated the disaster area my house had become, took Mikey for a walk around the block, came back and said they'd take him. And off they went. I've never tried to stay in contact with them, which I think is probably for the best.
If I ever have another dog (other than Saki), it will need to be under very different circumstances, i.e., the dog is already full-grown and trained (as was Saki, who was nearly 2 1/2 years old when we got her), or I'm working from home full-time so that I'm around 24 x 7.
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