In May of 2000, around Memorial Day, a note appeared on the kitchen counter at work. This is the place where we post important notices of interest. The note indicated that a 4-month-old Lab/Shepherd puppy needed a new home. It was stated that the puppy had a deformed ear, but was otherwise in good health.
About a year or so before that, Timba had become unable (though not unwilling) to go on long walks. We'd spent years walking everywhere together, but her job was done and she couldn't do it any longer -- her heart was in it, but the legs would not follow.
At one point, during that year, I found myself walking completely alone at the 4H camp near our home. I thought to myself, "This is not safe. I need a dog to protect me." The 4H camp is deserted three seasons a year. Bears live in these woods. There's tell of a mountain lion. Not to mention human weirdos (though, quite honestly, I'm not so worried about them around these parts!).
One day, a dog showed up at the office. She walked in (we always leave the doors propped open for fresh air and light). She wandered in and laid down right near my office in that section of the building just outside my office door where all my "girls" work. She had no ID tags, but it was evident she had recently been shorn by a groomer. She had shaver marks on her fur, and a little rainbow-color bow attached to her collar. Having brought Timba to a local dog groomer, I knew their trademark collar bows. It was after 5 p.m., but I called them and left a message describing the dog, the collar bow, and my location -- assuming maybe she was from the neighborhood. I got out of work at 7:00 that night, and since no one had come looking for the dog, I decided the best thing to do would be to take her home for the evening. Timba, now old and cranky was no longer going to work with me. Could this be the answer to my prayer? A new walking companion! I brought the dog home and introduced her to Timba. The two dogs got along great, and spent the night together in our living room.
In the morning, I took the visiting dog for a walk to the 4H camp. I remember bringing a leash, but not needing to use it. The dog walked right beside me, and seemed delighted to be on an adventure.
I brought the dog with me to work that day, and received a call from the groomer identifying the dog, and informing me that the owners were neighbors of our office. We exchanged the requisite telephone numbers, and I spoke with the dog's owner. "Misty," it turns out, had been groomed the day before and ran away when she was brought home. She didn't go far -- just a few doors down the road to our dog-friendly workplace. She sure didn't want to go home!
Misty's owner came to retrieve Misty a few moments later. She was so grateful to me for watching over her dog. Misty was a very special dog -- very, very special. A few days later, I popped one of our catalogs into the people's mailbox along with a note saying how great a dog Misty is and how lucky they are to own such a special creature. I said if they ever needed someone to dog-sit, I'd be happy to do it.
I was never asked to help with Misty. In fact, when I'd ride my bike to work, I'd pass their house, and would often stop to see Misty. I sometimes thought they figured I was a pain in the ass.
I drove by her home every day, multiple times, on my way to and from work and errands. Each time, I'd look for Misty. I guess by this time they probably thought I was a stalker! I made it a point to look for her every time I passed. (Years later, Misty became an elderly dog. One day I noticed, I never saw Misty anymore, so I can assume she went across the Rainbow Bridge.)
Enter Hobie! I answered the ad posted in our kitchen immediately. I said I'd like to see the dog, and could the owners bring it to me here at the office. Memorial Day weekend was upon us and they were going away. It would have to wait until they returned. "Please don't give the dog away!" I begged.
A couple days after the holiday weekend, it was arranged that I would meet the owners and their little dog at my office at 3:00. It was May 30th, 2000, and it was love at first sight.
My objective, since I needed a new walking partner, was to walk the dog up the road and see how I liked him as a walking companion. After all, this would become his job. He needed to be obedient, yet confident.
When the people arrived, this little yellow dog with a velvety-black nose and gorgeous eyes leapt out of the car and confidently strutted right into the office building. The people handed me a blue leash that matched the little blue collar he was wearing. I hooked the leash to the dogs collar, and he took the leash in his mouth with a look in his eyes as if to say, "Let's go! I'm ready!" I smiled, laughed and fell instantly and hopelessly in love. I made my decision in that very moment. This was to be my dog. We had instant chemistry. But, to keep up appearances, I took him for that first walk anyway. Ironically, we walked up to Misty's house and back. Oh yes! He was to be my dog. No question about it. I returned to the parking lot at work and said, without hesitation, "I'll take him." All the while, inside my head, like a little kid, silently pleading with the owners, "Please don't change your mind" "Please don't change your mind".
"We named him Hobie," the woman said, "because he's like a hobo. He has no home. Hobo/Hobie." He already knows his name, but he's still young so you can change it." (While this was happening, I'm noticing every time she says "Hobie" or "hobo" he responds by tilting his head, wagging his tail and other doggie language movements. Are you kidding? I kept the name.)
After Hobie's owners drove away, my co-workers gathered 'round to fuss over the new pup. I then grabbed my things, put Hobie in the car, and took him to Petco, where we bought everything one would need or want for a new puppy. I still have the receipt from Petco, dated May 30, 2000. On it, I wrote "the day I got Hobie!"
The little guy was so tired after going to Petco, he slept in the back seat the whole way home. I kept checking at red lights and looking over at him, my heart soaring with love and anticipation of a wonderful life with this mutt.
That night, I took a series of photos, including the one that would eventually become the logo for k2k9.com. The blue collar Hobie is wearing in the logo photo is the one that matched the leash he picked up in his mouth that fateful day. If you look closely, you can just barely see the last remnants of Hobie's "deformed" right ear, which miraculously corrected itself between the time the notice was posted in our kitchen and the day I met him.
In May of 2000, Gil was away on one of his shorter trips to Tobago. I told him I was looking at a dog that day, and he asked me not to take it unless it was "really special" -- like the same kind of special as Misty or Timba or Gil's beloved Schultz. "Don't just take any dog." he warned. Hobie was, and still is, more special than any dog I've known. The coolest, most confident, fearless yet loving and loyal dogs I've ever known. He is not just any dog.
Thanks to digital technology, Dave and I were able to email some photos to Gil. Here is the first photo we ever took of Hobie.
When he received it, Gil remarked, "I hope he's not one of those smooshed dogs!" (I think he meant a Pug, because of the coloring and the angle of the camera.) I said "No! He's Lab/Shepherd!" Years later, we would discover that both Hobie and Hector have traces of Black Mouth Cur in their blood.
During that first year, Hobie did (and continues to do) his job as a walking companion quite well. Twice a day, we'd walk several miles. He assisted me in losing 22 pounds in six months' time, and provided me with the protection I needed.
We still enjoy our long walks these days -- now including "the beach" one of Hobie's favorite phrases to hear/places to go -- along with his loveable little "brother", Hector.
All original material copyright © Kathleen S. Mueller. All rights reserved.