I've grown up usually being around one dog and one cat. Our first dog (I was hardly there to see it though, being a baby and all... actually I'm not even sure if I was there for this dog at all) was called Britannia. She was a British Bulldog because (I think) my father had an obsession for the British Bulldogs, although we never had another one. But he did get a statue... thing... of a British Bulldog, when I was younger I oddly thought that our last dog was actually in it (being a hollow statue (thing) it lead me to thinking such nonsense) and that the statue (thing) was made around the dead dog. I'm assuming I was wrong, as I've never actually approached my father about it... so I'm still a little scared of the statue to this day. For all I know, there's a possibly decomposed corpse lying in my father's dog statue, for anyone at any age this is a greatly concerning matter! Although I think I was told that we had to give Britannia away because we were moving or something like that.
My second dog though was called Monty. He was a Standard Poodle (the really large ones) that at the time was around a few months old (I was probably 3/4 at the time, this was before moving again). We were living on a chestnut or walnut or some other nut farm (although only had a few acres of land, it felt fucking huge), so this poodle, despite usually getting in the way of the tractor (I don't even know what the tractor was used for, we didn't harvest anything or make any profit off the farm, my father's an accountant and my mother works for his accounting firm...), had a large space to run around in. Unfortunately that only made him happier, he seemed to be some sort of ADHD dog on drugs. We sold him because of me, and I don't want to take responsibility for having my dog being sold. He would knock me over (being a lot larger than me even though he was a lot younger than me) and would probably cause a lot of tears. So he's gone too.
My third and current dog (we went without a dog and moved on to other pets for the time in the middle) I got when I was about 7-9, he's a Bichon Frise crossed Maltese. He's loud, very loud. He still looks young although he would be around 5 years old (minimum) and is frickin' adorable, despite his constant yapping and annoyance of course) He's called Harley... after the Harley Davidson. That was one of my obsession phases were motorbikes were the only thing in the world I wanted to pay attention to. Harley wasn't actually planned though. I had hoped to get a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel (CKCS for now) and wanted one (because I wasn't allowed a Great Dane, Saint Bernard or any large dog) like I want to breathe, getting a CKCS would have completed my life, but then my mum's friend's dog had a litter and of course Harley (being one of two in the litter) was a lot cheaper and was known for having less problems than a CKCS. I still love Harley, but would jump at the opportunity to get a CKCS.
This is all supposed to be leading up to something, but it turns out that I'm rambling and that I've written way to long of paragraphs for a pets blog, so I'll put up part two in a couple of days.
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