I found Boomer through an ad in the local classifieds. The lady described herself as a breeder located near Sedalia, Missouri (about an hour and a half away). I decided that it was now or never, that if I didn't take this opportunity, I would make up excuses not to do so for the rest of my life. So I called and set-up a time to swing out to see the puppies on their farm (there were 3 male puppies available at the time).

So I and two others who shall remain nameless took the trip out to the farm. It's down a dirt road, pretty well in the middle of nowhere. We pulled into the "homestead" as it were, and were greeted by the sound of LOTS of howling coon hounds. This woman bred not only Corgis, but also Coon Hounds (two dogs which aren't very much alike, but I didn't want to get into a long, drawn-out discussion about what drew her to dog-breeding). And there, in the midst of the herd of coon hounds (and some of them are rather large), were three little puppies in an enclosure, doing their darnedest to stay upright with varying degrees of success. Two were red and white, and one was black, red, and white. One of the red ones was scared of me and stayed at the back of the c, the tricolor puppy didn't even notice I was there, and the other red one came up to check me out. And he was the only one of the three that didn't fall into its own poo manage while I was there. And that was how Boomer made the cut.

Now during my discussions with the breeder, she repeatedly asked about what and how I was planning on raising the dog. It's my first dog raising experience, so I had no fricking idea. At one point she said, "I didn't know if you were planning on putting it in a handbag." Luckily I bit my tongue and didn't remind her that I wasn't Paris Hilton nor was Boomer a Chihuahua. And now, with Boomer fully grown (I hope), there is NO EFFING WAY you could put him in a handbag. I couldn't put him in a bowling ball bag, not even a garbage bag (maybe a lawn bag, however…).

I will also say that before and while I was taking Boomer home, several items of note happened: 1.) I went to pick him up alone, thinking he would sleep most of the way back KC, so I just put him in a laundry basket I brought along. I then spent the next 30 minutes trying to keep him in the laundry basket as he apparently didn't agree with my plan and wanted to join me in my seat, and not swerve off the road; 2.) the four puppies at the farm (the 3 boys I had already seen and a girl that was already paid for by someone else) were all kept in the same sleeping crate. The breeder opened the door and these 4 half-groggy puppies stumble out, see me some ten feet away, and charge in my direction, all excited. None of them actually made it to me before they fell over. This may be the exact reason that puppies have not taken over the world; and 3.) while holding Boomer and discussing payment with the breeder, he leapt from my arms and fell about 3½t-4 feet to the ground. My heart stopped, my mouth ran dry, and I crapped my pants all at the same time. I thought, "Ohmigawd! I killed the puppy…and I haven't even paid for him yet!" Luckily he did not die, I did not die (or really crap my pants) and Boomer, to date, is still alive. I keep telling myself that he would have been this crazy anyway, even if I hadn't dropped him on his head.

Boomer wasn't the initial name I had in mind for Puppy Hart (in fact, I didn't have a name in mind, though I have long held the desire to get two dogs and name them Trigger and Nutsy, like the two vultures in the Disney animated "Robin Hood" movie). The choices were narrowed down to Boomer, Smalls (as in every time he pooped on the carpet, I'd groan "You're killing me, Smalls!"; and it's a "Sandlot" reference), Stubbs (for his short legs and nub of a tail), Bartholomew (not my suggestion), Sparky, Haim, and/or Feldman (a suggestion from my boss Pat, who said I should name him after either of the "Two Corgis", Corgi Feldman and Corgi Haim. I know, I know, that was darn clever).

I went with Boomer, because I wanted to give him a "big dog name" like Killer or Fang, and have it been ironic in a fun way. Like naming a toy poodle "Cujo".

Of course, now that I named him Boomer, I rarely refer to him as "Boomer". He's Boo, Boom, B, Boomerang, Boomster, Booster, Boomeister, Boomitude, Maniac, Wee Crazy Man, "Heydon'tdothat!" (he probably thinks it's his name), Smalls (still call him this), and on occasion…Feldman.

More to come…