We hadn’t planned to own more than one Bull Terrier again.  The last female we’d brought into our home hated Malcolm.  The whole eight months she lived here, the merciless Mercy tried to kill him.  Although Malcolm took her murder attempts with good humor, we couldn’t handle it in our small house.  Mercy is the dog who pulled the entire back off our sofa from the inside of her crate, a feat we never did figure out, but my theory is that Malcolm helped her.  I’m sure he gave her an end of the material to tug, egged her on, and then sat back waiting for her to catch hell.  Fortunately, she was a young, pretty girl.  Her breeder was glad to take her back and find her a home without another dog in it.

     Then Sadie came into our lives.  Dear Hubby had never shown an interest in colored Bull Terriers but this one stole his heart.  When I rescued her from a shelter, she showed obvious signs of abuse and neglect.  I keep the rescue dogs at a distance while they are with us.  Early on when I began rescuing Bull Terriers, I learned not to become too attached to them the hard way.  It hurt too much to give them up to a home if I did, and I didn’t have room for more than two permanent dogs.

     Sadie was shy where Malcolm was outgoing they were suited to each other.  She grew more outgoing and loving over the years.  This was good.  On the other hand, Malcolm did introduce her to monkey business and she became a real pro.  Not good.

     Sadie was the dog who ate the five-foot square area of vinyl floor in my kitchen.  These days, I’m smarter, now I have a ceramic tile floor in my kitchen.

     Malcolm adored Sadie, she adored DH and Malcolm, and I wasn’t surprised the day DH came home with a new collar for her along with her own shiny, new dog license.

     “I guess she’s staying,” I said when he showed them to me.

     “She loves us.”

     “And, she hasn’t tried to bump off Malcolm.”  I looked at the two dogs curled up together on the sofa.  “It looks like we’re a two dog family again.”