From impulse puppy to hired security

Almost two years ago, in a bout of depression and loneliness, I went to the local shelter "just to look". I've done this countless times, to give love to the misunderstood dogs, the one-eyed kittens, but never left with a pet.

The shelter was crowded (as usual) and after visiting with some of the newer dogs, I decided to check out the puppy arena. It was there I found my first companion - a tiny, wrinkly puppy with the lungs of an opera singer. She had one black spot over her eye, the rest of her tan and white. I pet her for a second, then walked away to see the others. That was when the howling started, and to this day it hasn't ended!

We named her Noodle - a fun, silly name to match her vibrant personality. Noodle loves running, destroying empty water bottles, and talking back. From "Noodle, get down!' to "No, no ma'am." I am constantly met with howls, whines, and some weird guttural noise that comes from her throat after I tell her to hush. It works out wonderfully. I was born with decaying hearing, and as of this year, I only have about 20% remaining. Having a loud dog has its obvious perks for alerting me of passersby, knocking, and birds, along with day-to-day humor.

As a tiny puppy, we took her to playgrounds and let her go down the slides because back then, it was cute! As a clumsy, huge dog with an opinion who knocks over toddlers to get to the stairs... not so much. Noodle is the most playful, snuggly dog without a mean bone in her body. On walks, her loud mouth paints a different story. Some recognize her as chatty, and others assume she is violent. At first, I was super defensive. "She's just a baby!", I'd yell over her yodeling. "She's just talking to you!" People tend to believe the scary-sounding bark over my defense statements.

Noodle has adapted beautifully to working from home, however. There are no random yodeling sessions while I'm at my desk. She hangs out on the floor next to me and surprisingly has kept herself calm even when the neighborhood squirrel taunts her from the window. She knows she has to be quiet to work with me. This took a couple of hours of training, and maybe seven pounds of dog treats, but she got the idea.

One day, I was in a routine Zoom conference when I heard a curious bark from next to me, followed by a growl. We aren't supposed to have distractions in the workplace, so my first reaction was irritation. Before I could react, she bolted from the room and stood in the hallway, hackles a mile high and hollering ferociously. I've never heard her so angry, so I got up and checked our surroundings. Nothing to see.

"Noodle, no ma'am. Go lay down." She wouldn't budge. "Noodle! No bark. Go lay down." She looked at me sadly and laid where she once stood.

As I sat back down to apologize to my manager, she started up again. This time, she was terrifying. Something had to be wrong. I ran to the living room, where our front door stood wide open. Noodle was right outside of the threshold, baring teeth with a deep snarl. I didn't see anyone outside, but the lock on my door was broken. It was horrifying to realize that had Noodle not been there, I wouldn't have heard them come in. I have no idea what the end results would have been.

Noodle is now known by my work as a "security guard", and all my coworkers ask to see her regularly. After witnessing what had happened, and knowing of my disability in the first place, she was welcomed into the workspace and jokingly considered an employee. My tiny, wrinkly puppy has grown into a giant lap dog, who apparently does have a mean bone in her body somewhere.