How It All Began

Over 12 years ago, I found myself at the Lancaster County pound. I was ready to get a dog, and had been waiting two years, until I was out of dorm housing, and into my own house to get my very own dog. I had no idea what kind of dog I wanted, but figured it would all unravel when I got there. I asked a staff member which dog had been there the longest. She walked through and looked at the cage cards. She pointed out a German Shepherd mix. She had been there 5 days, after being brought in because she had been hit by a car. I figured I would add her to my list, although she didn't seem too interested in me. Her back was at the cage front and she didn't get up as I walked by.  However, being an animal lover growing up, I always assumed I would end up going to a pound and save the dog that had been there the longest. Once you actually get to the pound however, and realize you may be taking that dog home and living with it for upwards of 10 years, reality sinks in a bit.

After some more perusing, I chose three dogs I wanted to look at in the meet and greet room. The first was a Harrier, a hound that looks like a large Beagle. It spent the entire time sniffing the room and ignoring me. 

The second was a Boxer that was barking and lunging at the cage front. While it didn't appear like the Boxers my Dad fondly spoke about growing up with, I figured it couldn't be too bad, and my Dad would be thrilled that I got a Boxer. When I asked to meet the dog  I found out that it wasn't yet up for adoption. At the time I was disappointed, but in retrospect, I am so glad that I didn't take that dog out of it's cage. 

The third was the Shepherd. She came in the room and sat at my feet. Just lied there and allowed me to pet her. I wanted to think it over, but was pretty sure that the Harrier was the dog for me.  The Shepherd was too mellow and pretty big.

I got home and called my Mom. We debated the pros and cons of both dogs, and she tried to steer me towards the Shepherd.  "Schaferhund" as they are called in German, my mom's native tongue, and I imagine that it was this dog's country of origin that helped sway my Mom's vote. I wasn't sold, but figured I would go back to the pound, meet both dogs again and make my final decision.

When I arrived at the pound, the Harrier had been adopted. I was happy for the dog, but a bit disgruntled that he wouldn't be coming home with me. I figured I would walk around once more and see if there were any other dogs that interested me. After a walk through I ended up back the Shepherds cage. This time she came up to the cage, her tail a low wag. "Do you want to come with me?" I asked. Her huge upright ears turned forward and she pawed the front of the cage. 

I walked up to the desk and adopted her. Later that day I stood staring at the map of the USA I had on my wall and dubbed her Montana. It wouldn't be much later that her full name Montana Big Ears would develop.