My girlfriend and I had been looking for a dog for months. Several of our friends had acquired quarantine dogs but our apartment was too small to host all those roaches and a dog. Unable to sleep, every night I would struggle to decide between whether to pop five melatonins or look at dogs on Petfinder until sunrise. We were both very eager to have our own pup. We even picked out a name from a random Netflix animated show we recommend to everyone but would never willingly watch again.
Fast forward to the week we finally go to the rescue ranch located in a dust town called Perris to meet all the dogs. We were greeted by a Florida man who talked to the dogs in a German accent. The first dog we saw was not nice to us and needed a home with a huge yard. The second dog we saw and ended up adopting—after first falling in love with a third dog that tried to eat my sister’s cat—was Naga. She had a lot of fur, all white, and honey brown eyes. A sight to behold. They told us she was a Husky and we naively believed them. Ever since we brought her home, she’s been exhibiting some behaviors that are alarming, to say the least.
Naga looks exactly like a wolf. We took her to the mountains a few weeks ago and, out in the wilderness, you would think she was a wolf. She just looked like she belonged there and she was really good at hiking up the mountain. She was definitely nervous because she did poop a tiny dollop in the middle of the hike, but after that? Wolf-parkoured up those rocks.
Furthermore, just like wolf mamas out in the wild, she has a den (our closet) where she keeps her babies (plushies, only the ones with faces) and every night she licks them all clean.
Also, she sheds a lot. The inside of our house looks like a mall Santa display. I hate to be so vulgar but I am sick of being covered head to toe and up the asshole in “dog” hair. I would categorize it as an invasive species. Before we adopted her, our bedroom trash can was full of the usual things; beer cans and prescription bottles. But now? Tumbleweeds upon tumbleweeds of dense albeit extremely soft white fur. When I brush my girlfriend’s hair, all the hair that comes off in the brush is Naga’s!
The only upside of her shedding is that I now have a thriving dog-fur-themed Etsy shop. I make everything out of all her excess hair: portraits, sweaters, rugs, underwear, etc. And of course, 1% of the proceeds from my shop goes to the [redacted] Foundation. We all have to do our part in these times.
Another thing about Naga? She loves chicken. I know a lot of dogs like chicken but she really loves chicken. She’ll kill a bitch for some chicken. And it doesn’t even have to be real chicken. If I had a penny for every time I caught her red-handed with her nose in an empty bag of Trader Joe’s Chickenless Crispy Tenders I could donate an additional percent of my additional income to the [redacted] Foundation.
There are some possible indications that she might not be a wolf. For one, despite our best efforts (teasing her with a tiny piece of chicken) she hasn’t mauled us. That is definitely highly suspicious because based on our extensive research of wolves, they are vicious killers. All the documentaries, Planet of the Wolves, Fahrenheit Wolf, Wolf & Me, say the same thing: wolves are killers. Naga is less of a killer and more of a shy Virgo who has to be talked into receiving love and affection. She is also very bad at chasing cats and howling at the moon. And when we go through the Starbucks drive-through, she cries until she gets a tiny cup of whipped cream.
Is my dog a wolf? I think there is strong evidence for both sides and I’m not sure what to do. We would never give her back, at this point it's just about deciding whether we should move to an environment better suited for a wolf. We could go to the snow plains of Alaska or, like, Vermont.
Do wolves like Vermont?