It was a rhythmic clanking like snow chains only barely audible. We put down our forks and looked at each other across the dining room table. My first thought was that it was a new sound from our steam heat system. But it was subdued and the heating system is known for periodic bangs and clanks.  Maybe it was the reverberations from a tug or tanker on the bay, although we would have expected it to subside after a period. Could it be a clock with a broken cog?

Carol started laughing. I couldn’t imagine at what.

She pointed to the table and I pushed back my chair to look. There was Farrah, her legs splayed out. She was chewing, but what? Initially it appeared to be the leg of a chair and then I thankfully realized it was the piece of antler Kelly from Friends of Homeless Animals left us when she delivered Farrah a week ago. Farrah is part corgi and something else. Her papers that give her origin as Tupelo, Mississippi suggest shepherd, which appears to fit her face.  The bum and short tail is unmistakably corgi.

Farrah is eight months old and decidedly a puppy. She hasn’t learned her name – we’re working on that with treats when she responds to our calls. She has spurts of energy when she’ll chase a ball and run excitedly on her leash. Then there are moments when she’ll crash and stretch out for a snooze on her bed that is under the kitchen table.

The kitchen is ground zero.

We should have thought of that from the first day. Rather, we thought, since all our dogs had full range of the house, it would be good to introduce her to her new domain. She scouted out the first floor, gingerly sniffing around the couch and rugs. The steam radiators stopped her in her tracks. She cocked her head and advanced ever so cautiously. What sort of beast was this? What end should she sniff? I watched with amusement. What would she make of the bathroom and the toilet although she probably made their acquaintance at Kelly’s. 

We came to the stairs. Farrah stood looking up.

Carol and I went up. Farrah watched.

“Maybe we need to carry her up,” suggested Carol. Farrah is small and her legs short compared to those of our prior dogs that bounded up stairs and leapt over walls. Farrah tips the scales at less than 20 pounds.

Farrah seemed to understand what we were considering, but more likely found the gumption to give the stairs a try. Slowly she climbed, with us encouraging her every step. Once on the landing she was full speed ahead.

She made the rounds, steering clear of the radiators even though they were no longer hissing. She disappeared behind the bed as she checked out the closet. Carol followed.

“No, no Farrah,” she said loudly clapping her hands. Startled, Farrah retreated quickly. I went to see what caused the commotion. A dark stain spread across the red carpet.

In preparation to Farrah’s arrival, Carol liberally spread Arm & Hammer Pet Odor Eliminator across the first floor carpets and rugs with the purpose of cleansing lingering scents from prior pet indiscretions. We hadn’t extended the campaign to the second floor.

Figuring we were probably introducing Farrah to too much at once, we retreated to the kitchen and the travel crate, which is her nighttime abode. We took small steps, first finding a place in the ivy just outside the kitchen door where she pees and poops.

We lean a barrier across the kitchen door, only extending her range at dinner time when she’s allowed in the dining room.  She hasn’t learned to beg, nor have we promoted that by offering her treats from the table.

Her place is at our feet with her antler chew, or so I thought.

Carol was laughing again, tears rolling down her cheeks. There was no clicking of sharp teeth.

I looked under the table. Farrah was intently licking Carol’s bare feet, a first for any of our dogs.