The death of our beautiful Samoyed, Nicky, in 1985 devastated my husband Barry and me. We wanted another dog and we wanted a Samoyed. But we lived in the hot climate of south Georgia where few Siberian sled dogs are bred. We could have ordered one from a kennel up north, but we wanted to see the puppies and the parents of the puppies before making a selection. I scoured the newspapers day after day, looking for a breeder.
Finally, I got lucky. A breeder in Perry, Georgia advertised puppies for sale. Perry was only an hour and a half drive. On Saturday we drove up.
Six little fluffy balls of white fur with black eyes and noses sprawled out on the floor of a play pen inside the breeder's house. I wondered how I could ever choose. We wanted a male, and after playing with all of them for awhile, one stood out as more active and friendly. He came to me , unafraid, and he bounced around after I jerked my hand back from his sharp baby teeth. We chose him.
On the way home he settled down in the basket we had brought and slept soundly. He must have been tired out from all his playing. We had bought a crate large enough to hold him as he grew, and that became his favorite place. In no time at all, he was seeking his bed in the crate when he had worn himself out and needed a nap.
He quickly learned to go outside through the pet door when he had to potty. I laughed at him tumbling through the opening. We named our new baby Kodi.
When we went to work, we left his crate open in the brick-floored hallway. We closed the doors on either end. The pet door was his only way out to the fenced yard. It was the perfect solution for a busy puppy just beginning his chewing stage.
One day I came home, walked through the living room and opened the door to the hall. My mouth dropped open and I cried, "Kodi! What have you done."
Our adorable puppy, about three months old, was intently pulling a water hose through the pet door. The entire hallway was filled with green flexible PVC. Startled by me, Kodi looked up pleased as punch about his accomplishment.
Evidently he had become bored alone all day. His choice of toy was the long hose coiled by the faucet in the yard. Bit by bit, he must have spent hours pulling it through the narrow entry of the pet door. To my surprise, he hadn't chewed or damaged it in any way.
I made sure, after that escapade, he had plenty of toys to chew on and things to play with. Kodi delighted us many times with his mischief during the thirteen years of his life, and I still miss him.