One day a few years ago, Boomboom and I went to the salon – Boomboom was getting a haircut and I needed to be there as a style consultant. The stylist (so, when Boomboom tells this story, the salon is a barber shop and the stylist is barber) had a crate with a dog in it. He told us that his sister found a beat up dog on the side of a major road – all scraped up and starving. I look into the crate, and indeed, there was a sad looking dog – cuts and scrapes everywhere, super thin fur, and very thin in the body. He brought the dog to the salon so that more people could see the dog, in hopes that someone would adopt it.
He coaxed the dog out of the crate, and the poor thing has a very noticble limp – evidently the dog was hit by a car or something like that. So I say, “What is the dog’s name?” and he replies, “Well, we haven’t named her, as whomever decideds to adopt her will want to give her her own name”. That really broke my heart – all dogs, even beat up ones, should have a name. (As a side note, before this, Boomboom had been pushing hard for a dog. He wanted some purebreed something or another. But I did not care for dogs. At all. Boomboom thinks I was a little scared of them, which maybe I was…)
Anyway, Boomboom gets his hair cut (with much input from his style consultant) and we leave. But the poor, unnamed dog was still haunting me. The next day, I decide to go back to the salon to take unnamed dog on a walk. I feel bad for her on so many fronts: 1) no name, 2) all cut up, 3) lonely and scare, and 4) all pent up in a crate, so I feel like I should do my part to make her life a little happier. We take a (very slow) walk (she’s limping the whole time), and I feel like crying many times along the way. We had been discussing getting a dog for about 2 years, and here was this pitiful dog that needed us. REALLY needed us.
So later that day, when Boomboom called to see how I was doing and what I was up to, I told him “I took Ruby on a walk”. He is clearly confused – ” Who’s Ruby?”. I explain to him that I took unnamed dog from salon on a walk and named her Ruby – that she needed a fabulous name. After that, it is all basically history, as they say.
A few days later, Ruby moved in with us, and I went from the girl who didn’t like dogs anywhere near her (much less would ever pet a dog) to the champion of all dogs, especially bully breeds. She has enriched our lives in ways I never knew or thought possible. Boomboom read somewhere that having a pet can increase your lifespan by 7 or 9 years and I totally believe it.
Ruby is just a fabulous as her name. When she goes into Russian super-spy mode (think Syndney from “Alias”), she definately prefers to be called “Ruble”. We also call her Row-bee, Rub-a-dub, Rub-ee, Row-bers, etc. She responds to them all. And as for her non-purebreed status, Boomboom, who grew up with purebreed golden retrievers and yellow labs (yes, very original and different), tells me she is the smartest dog he has ever had / come into contact with. I dunno if that is just the proud papa talking, but I like to believe him.
Isn’t she the cutest EVER?!