I’ve noted in previous posts that I love English bulldogs and have wished for one for many years. Nevertheless, the timing was never right, and I was very picky about what I wanted in my future pet regarding color, facial features, and age…I did not want a puppy. I continued to look even though the timing was still not perfect at this stage in our lives.
Three weeks ago, however, I was perusing the pet section on Craigslist when up popped a creature with a face that only a mother could love. There he was. I messaged the current owner but did not hear back, so I assumed he was no longer available.
The posting remained active for several more days, so I sent another message. This time the owner replied that the Bulldog was available for a small rehoming fee. I called the owner and asked a lot of questions. All were answered to my satisfaction. Kristin, the owner, lived in Easley, SC, about three hours away from Knoxville. I had a lot on my plate at the time, and therefore, I didn’t commit to adopting the dog but told Kristin that I would call again in a week to see if he was still available.
The one variable in this process was Helen. She had said that I could adopt a dog, but not until we were ready to give up the RV lifestyle we both are so passionate about. I remained hopeful that she would come around—after all, back six years ago, she was not eager to be an RVer either. I thought I would broach the subject…carefully.
“Ok, I said, I’m going to tell you something you don’t want to hear.”
“What?” she replied in her “oh no” tone.
“I’ve found a Bulldog that seems perfect for us!” There was a lot of emphasis on the “us.”
When I told her about the discovery and that I promised to check back in a week, her reply almost knocked me over.
“Don’t wait a week. If this is the one, go get him!”
I called Kristin back and said I would be in Easley the next day.
I met Kristin and her daughter at the Tractor Supply store in Easley, where she usually bought food for her pets. I arrived earlier than I planned and, by now, was second-guessing myself about whether this was the time to adopt a dog. Thoughts about the responsibility, the expense, RV travel, and a myriad of other reservations rolled through my head until Kristin pulled alongside in the parking lot. She opened the door and out jumped an adorable (albeit heavy), peppy, very friendly English Bulldog that sauntered right up to my feet, looking for a love pat. All of the reservations were immediately forgotten.
After buying a supply of food, Kristin and I had a long chat about the dog. He is a year and a half old. He is potty-trained and crate-trained, and his diet is dry food (thankfully). Kristin had done an excellent job of teaching him voice commands. He understood “sit,” “stay,” and “come.” Registration papers and medical records came with him. She said he only barks when he is hungry or wants to go outside. Kristin raises dogs of different breeds and is currently raising a litter of seven. She had given the Bulldog a home after the first owner became too ill to care for him, but there simply was no room for him now. Her loss was my gain. I loaded him in the car for the return trip to Knoxville. He sat in my lap and filled my cup holders with slobber all the way home—I guess he was as excited as I was.
He had a different name with each owner. The original paperwork gave his birth name as Elvis, an OK name for a Tennessee dog, but not for me. The first owner named him Ozzie, but Kristin didn’t care for the name and changed it to Brutus. I thought about keeping that one, but I had always said that if I had an English Bulldog, I would give him the very English name Mortimer. Mortimer it is. He didn’t seem to care one way or the other.
Once home, Helen came out to greet him and fell in love as well. We borrowed a crate from our friends up the street, walked him through the neighborhood, fed him, walked him some more, then let him explore the house. I put him in the crate at bedtime, fully expecting a nighttime howl until dawn, but never heard even a whimper…only snoring.
The next morning, I was up at 6:30, something I only do on church days, to walk Mortimer around the neighborhood. He had slept well with no accidents in the crate. At first, I wasn’t sure about getting up this early every morning, but the more I thought about it, I thought a morning walk would be good for me, also.
The remainder of the first week consisted of more walks, a trip to the vet (ouch), and a trip to Walmart and Smartpet for crates, bowls, treats, and toys. Once those steps were complete, Mortimer was ours for the long haul.
In week two, we decided we better try him out on an RV trip to decide whether the RV stays or goes. Helen booked three nights at our favorite campground in Cherokee, NC. The weather forecast offered perfect temperatures, and the wildflowers were reported to be in full bloom, so we loaded up Mortimer in the back seat of the truck and took off. He handled the ride over exceptionally well and sat by our side in front of the firepit as Helen and I did some long sought-after creek sitting. He spent the first night in the RV like a veteran camper—no incidents, barking, or whining. I guess we can keep the RV.
The next day, we took him to Deep Creek Campground in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park to check out the wildflowers. As we walked through the parking lot, several groups of ladies came over to say hello and pet Mortimer. One lady dubbed him a “Chick Magnet” (hmmm–a factor I hadn’t considered). A lovely young Park Ranger also gave him a stamp of approval.
He loved drinking from the creek so much that he even sat in it as if he was afraid that it would disappear.
So, he passed the RV test, he’s a “chick magnet,” sleeps all night, snores softly, slobbers in my cup holders, and is a dyed-in-the-wool love sponge. What’s not to like about that? I guess we’ll keep him. He’ll be Easin’ Along with us on the road less traveled…for the long haul.
