In September of 2003, my wife and I moved into a new house just outside of Charleston, SC. I was a Chief Resident and able to make a few extra dollars moonlighting, while my wife was working as a physician at a community health center. She felt that we (herself, myself, and our 15 pound dog) had outgrown our home and it was time to find something new. I took my normal passive approach to the house hunting as I learned early in the marriage that my opinion doesn't really mean too much (even when asked - a trap I fell into on more than one occasion). I requested a big yard and a pool. She found a wonderful house in Ravenel (16 miles from downtown). The lady who lived there was divorced and wanted to downsize. It seemed like a perfect fit for us and it was a 5 minute drive from my wife's clinic.
My first visit to the house actually occurred after we had made an offer and signed a contract. The yard was huge, but the lady had this wild dog that kept attacking me as I walked around the yard (and examined the pool). I did everything I could to throw sticks and balls in order to distract the 60 pound black lab, but he was so full of energy that my attempts were futile. When I got inside to look at the inside of the house, I was able to examine the bite marks on my arms and the three new holes in my shirt. I prayed the dog wasn't rabid. During my inaugural trip to the house I had three thoughts: 1) I just bought this damned shirt 2) My arms hurt from where the dog was biting me 3) We are closing in 4 days and she hasn't moved a damn thing (and most stuff was unpacked).
At the closing, the lady kept complaining about what to do with the dog. Apparently he was a 6 month old black lab that her deadbeat son left at her house because he could not take care of it in Atlanta. Being the lover of animals (and animal rights) that I am, I volunteered to take the dog. I figured we had a huge yard, and eventually the dog might calm down (with the right owner). The lady said, "That is very nice of you, but I think I am going to give him to the SPCA". I was floored. This moron was going to give the dog to the SPCA where it would most certainly be put to sleep in 10-14 days when I was volunteering to keep the dog myself. After the closing, the lady (and her ex-husband) asked for one more night to clean out the "remaining" items in the house. I had brought a car load of stuff to put in our new home and went out to the home to drop it off. After being mauled by the dog, I made it through the front door and noticed the tremendous amount of packing that still remained. I went home and told Kelly that they might not have everything out by the morning and she reminded me that the workmen were coming to rip up the carpeting and put down hardwoods. We also had painters and people to hang fixtures scheduled to arrive early the next morning, so the lady had to be out by 7 am and she was going by there on her way to work to check.
I left work at about 7:25am the next morning after a very frantic call from my wife. I answered the office phone. She screamed 47 expletives, 2 verbs, something about workers being there in an hour, and "you need to take care of this 'cause I gotta go to work". Fortunately, my co-Chief was able to cover me for the day so I could tend to other matters. I spent the next 12 hours packing and moving all the wonderful stuff that belonged to the lady. Jake ran around the yard biting workers and movers, stealing their gloves, and barking a lot. The deadbeat ex-husband sat in the yard on his cellphone smoking cigarettes and talking about all the hard work he was doing (avoiding). The lady herself was like a small helpless animal and could do nothing. The real estate agent was able to get an impromptu moving truck and crew together to help relocate all her belongings. A scragglier and more delinquent appearing crew I cannot recall. After the day was finished, I told the lady I was keeping two things as payment for my hard day's work - a bottle of Jack Daniels from the pantry and the black lab named Jake. She was in no position to object.
We have lived in the house for 2 and 1/2 years now, and we absolutely love the place. Jake has obviously become a huge part of the family. He bit a lot of relatives and ruined the occassional article of clothing, but he has settled down and is a wonderful dog. Jake and I go for 4-5 mile runs a couple of times a week, and he gets to swim in the many ponds along the way. He eats our left overs. When we watch TV, he comes in and sleeps on his section of the couch (which is larger than the section of the couch delegated to "daddy"). If someone is on his section of the couch, he will bark at them until they move. He truly is "man's best friend" or at least mine. A year ago I had to buy a king-size bed, because we were too cramped in the queen with Jake and Pepper (the small cavalier King Charles spaniel). God forbid Jake sleep on the floor...........