My oldest dog is 8. She's got really bad allergies and to be honest I think she was from a puppy farm. Her name is Libby and the choice was between her and her much quieter sister. We bought her when she was about 5 months old and paid way too much. But I couldn't leave her and I couldn't chose which puppy to take - I waited in the car and let Brent pick one. Terrible.
But I have to say Libby (her sister, too) was beautiful. We'd just lost two of our three Springer Spaniels and the one left was very sad - so we got him a puppy. He loved her for about three hours and then did his best to be a carmudgeon. He was 91 people years old and looking back I guess he had right to scold her but it was how he did it that made him a grumpy old man.
When he passed, two years later, Libby was sad - are we seeing a pattern? Anyway, that's when we decided she needed company ... so we got Jack. Not from a puppy mill but a nice family. Jack is better than handsome – he's the David Beckham of dogs. And since they're both so beautiful I had the brilliant idea that they should propagate. Not to make money but because beauty like theirs shouldn't be ended.
Libby grew enormous and at the end we had ten puppies that didn't make it, three that survived and a vet bill that was twice as enormous as Libby. On a good note - one of my twins decided puppy birth was really gross and changed her mind on becoming a veterinarian saving us a bundle on tuition. Well, I couldn't release the three brave survivors to just anyone ... so, my brother adopted one, we called her Juliet and they named her Casper.
And that is how one family of four has a exact canine replica living in their house with them. It hasn't really been too bad but I wouldn't necessarily recommend it either.
I don't really know why I wrote about them ... other than they're laying around me, baking in the winter sun.