Pure Joy by Danielle Steel Page A

only seemed to rev her engines to an alarming degree. She would start out on jet speed and get busier and wilder through the day. First she’d chew through all the electrical wires. Then she’d wipe out the phone. After that, she’d bounce around the furniture, gnawing cushions, make a bold stretch toward the bookcase and eat my books. After that, she’d nibble on my toes, usually eat at least one ofmy shoes, dance around to show me how cute she was, and bark at every sound. And yes, she was very cute, but after fourteen hours of typing, I’d be starting to sag in my chair, and Faith would still be looking for things to do. She was tireless, too much so for me. No matter what I did, I couldn’t wear her out, and when I sent her back to play with the other dogs, she looked unhappy. And in my office, she was distracting, and a nightmare. It took me several months to finally admit we were mismatched. I needed a dog with less energy (a
lot
less!), and I strongly suspected she needed to be an only child.
    A friend of mine had lost her dog around that time and was heartbroken, missing her dog. And I think it was a Maltese too. I talked to her honestly about my experiences with Faith, that she was clearly a great dog but had too much energy for me and maybe needed to be an only dog. My friend came to meet her, and it was love at first sight. I knew the minute I saw them together that it was right. Faith went to spend a few days with her, and their romance flourished and has only deepened over time. Faith moved on to her new home, and I’ve run into my beaming friend with Faith a few times. I really guessed that one right. I’ve always liked a slightly ragtag look to my dogs, with tousled hair, and not all impeccably groomed and clipped. But once Faith made it to her new home, her beautifulwhite Maltese hair was perfectly brushed. She was wearing a pink rhinestone-studded collar and leash, and when I saw her, she gave me a look that clearly said she had risen in the world and had no use for a commoner like me. She had become a princess. She strutted proudly beside her new owner, while my friend told me all the things they’d been doing together. They were an absolutely perfect match. Faith and I never were, and I’m so happy that I had the courage to say so and let her be much happier somewhere else. She never did anything “bad,” she just wasn’t right for me.
    We had one very, very bad experience with a French bulldog I brought back from Paris, named Sophie. Some people are nice, others aren’t, and dogs are much the same. And some people (and dogs) are simply insane. Sophie was insane. (I wasn’t so sure about the breeder I got her from either, since he told me a few months later that a fortune teller had told him I was his long-lost mother and I should adopt him immediately. P.S., I didn’t). In any case, Sophie flung herself at anyone who walked by, barking ferociously, wanting to attack them. And the mistake I’d made in getting her came to a tragic end, when she attacked and killed the very old Brussels griffon we had, who had belonged to my late son Nick. The loss was sad for all of us. Molly was old and blind and nomatch for Sophie, and it was over instantly. Sophie’s partner in crime was Tommy, a male griffon I had who, unlike my others, had never been friendly and had bitten several people over the years, and we kept him anyway. They set on Molly together. I called our vet the day it happened, and we put up both Sophie and the male griffon for adoption and sent them away the same day they attacked Molly. I didn’t want to see them again. We found good homes for both of them, where they did well separately, but after what they did, they didn’t belong with us. Nothing like it has ever happened before or since. It was a sad episode in our dog life and a very sad end for Molly.
    Less dramatic, we got another French bulldog a year or so later, who arrived with giardia, a contagious illness, and had to be