Susan Smith: Worst Puppy Ever

Originally published July 8, 2008

By Susan Lampert Smith

I am pretty confident I have the worst puppy ever. Sure, they can wreak all sorts of havoc . But how many dogs do you know that have totaled an extended cab F150 Ford Pickup?

I should have known better, letting the nearly grown kids talk me into a black and tan hound puppy?

I had sworn off hounds forever. Oh, sure, they’re cute, and smart. Years ago, we had beagles. They were totally entertaining, and completely bad.

They killed the neighbors’ chickens, chasing them around the pen like a doggie version of a video game. They pulled the other neighbors’ steaks right off the grill and ran with them. Didn’t we tie them up? Sure, we tied them to a picnic table. They dragged it across the yard, bursting the blood vessels in their eyes in their determination to escape.

They ate an entire tub of Crisco, and threw it up all over the house. They would run for days, and either come home or wind up in dog jail. And they met bad ends: one dead on the highway, the other one shot.

And for years after that, we had a series of good dogs. Shepard and lab mixes, mostly, who were content to hang around the farm, being happy just to be with you.

And then, my beloved senior dog died, and the kids convinced me to “just go look” at puppies. We found Buster at a family-run animal rescue near Richland Center, a place like Dr. Doolittle, with hens and geese, and horses and mules. He had big brown eyes, and giant paws.

“Congratulations,’’ said Doc Williams, our veterinarian. “You’ve got six pounds of puppy and one pound of worms.”

As soon as the worms were cured, the sweet sleepy puppy turned into a holy terror. He shredded shoes, he paraded through the hours with the toilet brush, he personally beheaded the entire spring’s crop of tulips. And he won’t stay home on the porch with the senior dogs.

When he was 8 weeks old, we returned to find him in a cage on the front porch, with a note that read “Is this your puppy?”

So, when my husband leaves, he takes Buster along for a ride in the truck. The other day, they were delivering strawberries to the local grocery store. Buster apparently didn’t like being left in the truck cab anymore than he likes being stuck at home. When Matt came outside with the cart to load the flats of berries, he saw the truck beginning to roll. Buster apparently thrashed around enough to knock the shifter out of gear. Matt ran to the truck to open the door, and Buster jumped up on the window, smashing down the door lock.

The truck began to accelerate down the hill behind the store. My husband ran faster, but lost his balance. Thankfully, he was not run over as the truck careened down the hill, across the street and smashed into a big box elder tree.

The truck is totaled. Buster seems fine after his wild ride.

If you can top that bad puppy story, I’ll give you a bag of puppy chow. (And Buster, too.)