When I lost my wife of 45 years, I was lonely. Friends told me to get a dog. The internet told me that the best choice for an older man living in a townhouse would be a French Bulldog.
I called every French Bulldog breeder east of Chicago. No dice. However, there was one woman in western Massachusetts who said "No" a little less vehemently.
She said she had a new litter, but all new pups already had homes. However, since I never had a dog, she did agree to be my consultant. Over a few weeks of conversation, I learned that she had kept the "pick of the litter" for herself to train as a show dog. The father of the "pick of the litter" was named Charlie and was an annual contestant at the Westminster Dog Show.
To be sure, 99.99% of the pandemic was bad. This was the .001 that was good: Concerned about making a living during the pandemic, the breeder agreed to sell me her show puppy!
I had to wait until he was four months to bring "Maurice" home.
Why did I choose the name, Maurice? Well, he is a French dog. Also, though, several years ago, I was late arriving at a weekend real estate conference. The only name tag left on the registration table was for a "Maurice." What the heck? I took the name tag and for that weekend, everyone called me, Maurice. It was a lighthearted joke and, in some real estate circles, still follows me.
But, now I had a real Maurice. Since I never had a dog before and Maurice never had his own home before, we learned about living together by living together.
It's a pain getting up at 5:45 AM to take him out.
Being a French Bulldog, he is very strong and very stubborn. Sometimes, I really have to drag him down the street.
He loves to play "tug of war" and he always wins.
He is an attention hog and jumps up on everyone.
I love him. When you meet him, you'll find him hard to resist.
