Prognathism…Or, Underbite, Wonderbite

Before I met the hubs, I had 2 dogs. One rescue and one purebreed. Now, I’m not going to lie, these two dogs were the best dogs in the history of dogdom. The rescue, Daffney (yes, I know it’s not spelled right, it’s a nod to a town near where she was rescued mixed with the hue of her red hair-I was a Scooby Doo fan) was the sweetest thing on earth and everyone loved her. She was pretty, good, calm, fun, a great companion to me, then my grandmother, then my dad. She entered into doggy heaven after 15 years and it was very sad. Max, the purebred; he was a tough, steadfast protector of me and my family. He was big, and fluffy and dad used to LOVE to walk him around town because it looked like he was walking some sort of black bear on a lead. Max met his maker and shortly after my husband proposed. My dad used to ask me what I was going to do if I found the man of my dreams and he wasn’t a dog person. I used to reply, “then he wouldn’t be the man of my dreams”…in other news, I married a cat person.

And by cat person, I mean, a single man that had 3 cats. 3. Did I mention that in addition to not liking cats, I’m also allergic to them. Ah, true love. I even took allergy shots so that we could live in the same dwelling. Our first married Christmas I pretty much told the hubs that he was either giving me a dog or a divorce. Naturally, I wanted another Max. You can’t replicate Daffney (unfortunately, we haven’t got the cloning process cheap enough for me to afford it yet, not to mention that I’m pretty sure “Dolly” the sheep wasn’t a rocket sheep scientist, but I’ve keep one of Daffney’s whiskers just in case we get there before the zombies take over). Hubs informs me that we will not in fact be getting a thousand dollar, giant purebred dog and that we would, in fact, be getting a dog from a shelter like normal people. So off to the shelters we go. The hubs wanted a small dog, I wanted a horse. Sure there were a hundred and fifty seven thousand pit bull mixes. Shelters had LOADS of Chihuahua mixes. But nothing in between. Nothing. So, it was on a day, very close to Christmas that we found Abigail in a little shelter in tiny town outside of Charleston (the underbite wonderbite pictured on the right). Let me point out a couple of things about Abigail, now nine: she was alone in a little cage all by herself while the other puppies at the shelter were hanging out together. She was skin and bones, and sans under bite I might add. The shelter workers told us that she was found on the street and to be honest she wasn’t real wild about people. Perfect, we’ll take her! We went into the little puppy room with her and she sat. We got on the floor and tried to get her to come to us. She sat. We talked sweetly and offered her treats. She sat. I’m sold! Wrap her up. We get her in the car and she crawls under the driver seat, where she hid the whole ride home. We brought her home, picked her up out of the car and put her on the grass. She sat. We excitedly showed the neighbors our new puppy. She hid in the bushes. We took her inside, she crawled under the coffee table and stayed there pretty much for the first 6 months. Unless we had food. If we had food, she would scarf it up like she was just released from a hostage camp featured in Locked Up Abroad. About the same time she developed the underbite, a year later, she finally liked us enough to let us pet her. Forget about snuggling, going on fun walks, car rides, camping trips, to the beach, to the park, to anywhere. The hubs was slightly perplexed on why I would have chosen the most “broken” dog on the planet. What kind of dog doesn’t like to ride in the freaking car?? What kind of dog would rather stay in her kennel (and nine years later, it’s still her favorite place) with the door open than sleep on the sofa with her humans? This one. The one I choose, you know, the one that is just not quite right, like me. Now, nine years later, she is the most spoiled, ridiculous, sofa/bed sleeping, vocal dog you will meet this side of the Ashley. She has turned into quite the sheriff, policing any nonsense or fun we might be having on her watch (she got that from my mother, I guess). She also, in a shocking turn of events, has turned into my hub’s dog. She could really care less about me, unless it’s supper time. We even had to buy one of the stainless steel balls to put in her food bowl ‘cause she scarfs down her food so fast…and just to rub it in, that bitch has never weighed an ounce over 42 pounds her whole adult life. And please reference my earlier statement about her not liking walks. So she never exercises. She hates it (she got that from me, I guess).

Now, you may be wondering how a family could stumble upon another dog with such a wondrous underbite, who is even stranger than the first one. Well, here’s how.

After about the 5 years it took Abby to feel comfortable in our house, I saw a picture of a dog on Petfinders that looked like the cutest, sweetest, little face with an underbite in the whole wide world! See Wonderbite, Underbite pictured on the left. Seriously, cutest photo I’ve ever seen. I was immediately smitten with that underbite and those sweet big brown eyes. Perfection!! Must have!!! I contacted the rescue group. I even emailed them a picture of Abigail, so that they would know that the hubs and I respect the underbite. We celebrate it!! The lovely rescue group promptly responded that due to the distance between us, in Charleston, and underbite dog, Athens, GA; they would be unable to let us adopt . The woman who sent me the email had the same last name as a kid I went to boarding school with, who grew up in Athens, so as a last shot I asked her if they were related. She replied back with an email I still keep to this day. And the reply was,

“We aren’t related, he is my husband, and the dog is yours”.

References from my vet, pictures of our home and outdoor space were sent for approval. I had a phone interview with the dog’s foster mom (whom I am still friends with on Facebook and I totes think is the coolest lady in all of Athens, GA) and we planned our trip to pick him up. We drove to Athens, stopped at the closest Wal-Mart and got a huge bag of puppy chow, puppy toys, puppy collar. You know, puppy stuff. We meet Gizmo (he was already named, and quite frankly, it fits him) and he is the hap-happiest lark you have ever met! Seriously, he was like…yay!!!!! New humans, I’ll get in your car and drive 7 hours to a new land with you. He was the cutest, sweetest little puppy you’ve ever seen. Fifteen pounds of white fluff and smile. A perfect little angel in the car too. Sat on my lap the whole time, staring at me with those big brown eyes. Calm, well behaved. The hubs and I had certainly made an excellent choice. We smugly drove the seven hours back to Charleston. After a short (several hour) dominance establishing exercise (read: Abby tried to eat his face and kill him repeatedly), Gizmo came in the house where he has sat upon his throne since….Now, in order for you to fully understand they kind of underbite wonderbite we are dealing with, I should probably point out a few things that we have since learned about Gizmo.

1. He wasn’t a puppy when we adopted him. We took him to our vet and much to our surprise; we were told that Gizmo was probably about 2 or 3 years old. We were like…what the hell are we going to do with all that puppy chow? The vet was like, it’s okay, weirdos, he’s a dog, he’ll eat the puppy chow, then, just give him regular adult dog food, he’ll be fine.
2. We have also since learned that Gizmo will not only eat puppy food, he will eat ANYTHING he can fit in his tiny little underbite mouth. Nails, sticks, poo, leaves, acorns, Swedish fish candy, sour cream, watermelon, socks, earplugs (hubs snores), tacks, dandelions. Seriously, anything.
3. He is not a dog, but in fact, an alien from another planet far, far away. We are not sure if he fell through some worm hole accidentally, but he is here now, and he is biding his time til the mother-ship either forgives him for what he did back home and/or finds their lost prince. Seriously, he’s not a canine. For starters, he looks like he has a lot of hair and is all white and fluffy, when in fact, once you wet him, he resembles a Chinese Crested (ya’ll know, those weird looking spotted hairless dogs-seriously, he even has the spots). If he is not hungry, he will eat only half of his bowl of food, half, a perfect symmetrical half right down the middle of the bowl. It’s weird. He sits on his head. Literally, look on my Instgram page, he sits on his head. Not on his bum, where dogs sit. He choices to sit with his head on the sofa, and his ass in the air.
4. His micro chip has migrated from in between his shoulder blades to his chest (did ya’ll even know that was possible?? It feels super strange, btw) and our other dog, Abby tries to chew it out of him, everyday. I’m not kidding. It is the most bizarre thing.
5. Any time ANYTHING even REMOTELY traumatizing happens and EVERYTHING is a big deal to him, he has to turn around and check his penis. That’s right, I just said that. He literally turns around and checks his penis. Ask anyone who knows him. I even asked the vet about it, and she didn’t believe me, so I stomped my foot on the ground and Gizmo jumped, then checked his penis, and the vet what like, holy shit. And I was like, I know…is this normal? And she was like, um, hell no, I’ve never seen another dog do that…that is weird. And I was like, I know, do you think he is an alien pretending to be a dog until he can infiltrate our government and take over the world? And she was like, yes, that is exactly what I think is going on here.
6. He must freak out at approximately eight o’clock every night. And by freak out, I mean, throw himself on the floor and make a bunch of weird noises while he pushes himself face first around the room and randomly barking, then he darts from room to room barking and growling til he throws himself on the ground exhausted.
7. He likes to do what I like to call, “R. Kelly” my friend Sabrina. He doesn’t pee on my other friends, just her. She has to text me when she’s on the way over, so I can take Gizmo out so he will pee right before he sees her in hopes that he won’t “R. Kelly” her. This is not always successful. We are sorry, Sabrina, we really are sorry.
8. He likes your boobs and will stick his front paws down your shirt any chance he can get. And don’t even get him started on bras, he will have a paw in there in a skinny minute.  
9. He’s chilly. Like, all the time. I’m not even sure he’s warm blooded (please refer to my alien reference above). He will sit in the sun like a reptile, and constantly demands that you cover him with blankets.
10. He’s your new bestie. Seriously. He totally loves you. He has never met an enemy and gets so excited to meet people, that I have to send him off to his various god-parents homes when I want to have people over. We tried drugging him, but drugs don’t seem to have an effect on his alien blood which is why we also (unfortunately) have to treat him every two weeks instead of every four weeks for fleas and ticks and heartworms, which is SUPER cheap by the way. Anyhoo, he loves ya. So, next time you see the underbite, wonderbite alien gallivanting around town (his sister won’t be joining him, as she is a recluse), stop on by, pick him up and if you’re a lady, he’ll feel you up.