Driving to West Virginia to get Marcus was probably the longest 1.5 hour drive of my life. I'd heard so much about him and I couldn't wait to meet him, and I hoped so much that he would like us. I was willing to accept the absolute worst. But it all went perfectly. Carrie was extremely awesome, told us everything that we needed to know, answered all of our questions. Marcus met us and immediately started licking my face. We fell in love with those big brown eyes, signed the paperwork, and made him ours.
I'd read some panic-inducing articles about crates killing dogs in car accidents, and I couldn't find a decent one in the store on short notice, so I sat in the back and held him while we drove home. It was a great bonding experience, and he seemed to like it (minus when we'd take a turn and he'd have to stop looking out the window to brace himself better). We took him for a walk around the block to acquaint himself, then walked him around the house on the leash.
I'd prepared for everything. I was waiting for him to whine, cry, become lethargic, pee on the floor, want nothing to do with me... We were worried that he'd not be able to tackle our steps and that we'd need to carry him up and down 20 times a day.
And then we let him off the leash. He walked around the place like he'd been our pet since the day he was born. He played with his toys, he showered us with love and affection, he energetically bounded up and down the steps (which he was initially afraid of, but got over with the assistance of a few treats) every time we wanted to take him for a walk. We started out with hourly walks, then every other hour to make sure that he was going potty outside. He didn't have a single accident. Whenever we'd walk over to him or say his name, he'd greet us with the happiest little doggy smile ever.
When we went to bed, he whined a bit in his crate, and barked a bit too. But he settled down quickly and went to sleep. I was so proud of my dog.
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