Keeshond puppies and dogs in Tulsa, Oklahoma

Oh hi. Yes. It’s me. Waverly Woofington. Of the Woofingtons. We’re basically royalty, but with more fur and fewer trust funds. I am what the humans call “gentle and sensitive.” Which is code for: I read the room better than your therapist and will absolutely notice if your vibe is off. Loud chaos? Not really my aesthetic. Cozy blanket fort with soft lighting and snacks? Yes. That is my brand. I am what you might call a quiet observer. I will politely assess you before deciding if you are worthy of my full affection. Once I’ve decided you’re safe, congratulations — you now have a loyal shadow who will follow you around like a very fluffy, very devoted emotional support cloud. I am six months old, 21 pounds of premium fluff, and allegedly a Chow Chow / American Eskimo mix. Do we know this for sure? Absolutely not. Was it confidently typed on paperwork anyway? Obviously. Rescue math works like this: Fluffy + ears + vibes = “Sure, that sounds right.”Will I remain adorable regardless of my genetic mystery? Absopawsitively. Now let’s discuss the elephant in the room — or rather, the non-elephant. I am 21 pounds at six months old. This is not “giant majestic mountain guardian” math. This is more like “deluxe medium with extra floof” math. I’ll probably top out somewhere around 40 pounds-ISH. Please note the emphasis. Because everything in rescue is an educated guess sprinkled with hope and vibes. If it’s going to emotionally unravel you should I land at 38 pounds… or 43… or wake up one day and decide to surprise everyone — it might be best for you to keep scrolling. I am not a custom-order build. I am a limited-edition mystery box. Oh, you’d like the tea on my social life? I am what professionals might call a canine diplomat. A social butterfly. A networking icon. If there were tiny business cards at the dog park, I would absolutely have them. When it comes to other dogs, I am friendly, easygoing, and unbothered. Big dogs? Cool. Small dogs? Adorable. Dramatic dogs? I’ll allow it. I integrate into a pack like I’ve been elected mayor within 15 minutes. When I met the house cat, I conducted myself with poise. Curiosity? Absolutely. I am not blind. There was a small, mysterious creature staring at me like I owed her money. Of course I was intrigued. But I read her body language. I kept my composure. I handled myself like a civilized fluff who understands that cats are basically introverts with knives. I have experience with the teenage variety. You know — the tall ones who eat constantly and pretend they don’t want to pet you but absolutely do. I handled them beautifully. Have I been around the tiny, sticky-fingered, high-pitched versions? Not yet. However — I am a very calm and gentle soul. I am not the “body slam first, ask questions later” type. I move thoughtfully. I read energy. I prefer grace over chaos. So with proper supervision (because let’s remember I am six months old, not a licensed nanny), I would likely do well with kids of various ages. Energy level? A solid 4. I am not a marathon runner. I am not training for the Puppy Olympics. I am not scaling your fence at dawn because “the vibes felt adventurous.” I enjoy a nice play session. A tasteful zoomie. A polite backyard romp. And then? I would very much like to return to my regularly scheduled lounging. If you’re looking for a dog who needs constant stimulation and three-hour hikes daily? I will respectfully pass the baton. If you’re looking for a companion who enjoys activity but also deeply values couch time and emotional reflection? Hello. It’s me. Adventure seeker or homebody? At this current chapter of my memoir, I am what we call a luxury homebody. I like to settle in. Observe. Assess the lighting. Evaluate the emotional climate. Make sure everyone passes the vibe check before I start gallivanting through the world like a travel influencer. Confidence is a slow bloom, darling. I am friendly. I am sweet. I like people. I just prefer to feel secure before I start signing up for brewery patios and farmers markets. But here’s the thing — as my confidence grows (and it will), I absolutely have the potential to become a “let’s go places” girl. Overall temperament? Picture a Victorian heroine… but fluffy. I am gentle. I am sensitive. I have depth. If there were background music to my life, it would be soft piano and meaningful eye contact. Ah yes. Real estate preferences. Let’s discuss my property requirements. Given that I am in my “softly building confidence” era, a securely fenced backyard would be ideal. Could I eventually handle regular leash walks without a yard? Possibly, with patience and steady guidance as my confidence grows. But starting out, having that predictable, secure outdoor space would help me blossom instead of feeling overwhelmed. Potty trained? Let’s just say I have been conducting myself with dignity. Since arriving here, I have had zero accidents. However — and please lean in for this part — I am six months old and still relatively new to this whole “living inside a house full-time” lifestyle. So while I am off to an excellent start, my future family should not assume I arrived pre-programmed with a homeowner’s manual. Guidance. Consistency. Gentle reminders. The kennel? I do just fine, thank you. It is not my preferred long-term lifestyle — I am, after all, a companion animal — but I handle it with grace. Bark? No. I do not “bark.” That feels… pedestrian. However. I do occasionally engage in tasteful vocal expression whenever I am excited. Specifically, I “woo-woo.” If you are looking for a silent statue dog who never makes a sound, I may occasionally disappoint you with my charming little breakfast announcements. But if you enjoy a little personality — a sprinkle of sass in vocal form — then you will find my commentary delightful. Alright. Deep breath. Final monologue moment. If you’ve made it this far, congratulations. You are clearly invested in refined fluff with emotional depth and moderate woo-woo capabilities. Now here’s the part where we discuss logistics — because love is beautiful, but paperwork is real. If you would like to be chosen by Waverly Woofington (that’s me), you will need to fill out an adoption application. Not a “hey is she still available?” message. Not a “what’s her lowest price?” inquiry. An actual application. Why? Because the nice humans need to send it to my foster family so they can confirm you are, in fact, worthy of this level of fluff. And once approved, you will need to come pick me up in Skiatook, Oklahoma. If filling out an application and driving to Skiatook feels like too much effort, then perhaps you are not prepared for a lifetime commitment to a sensitive queen. But if you’re ready for a loyal, gentle, affectionate companion who will blossom beautifully in the right home… Then stop scrolling. Fill out the application at https://www.pyrpawsandfluffytailsrescue.com/adoptablefluffybutts Secure the fluff. I’ll be here. Waiting. Elegantly. With hopeful, discerning affection, Waverly Woofington 🐾

Whisper Woofington here. Please don’t let the name fool you — I am not here to whisper. I am here to politely but persistently request your admiration at all times. I am sweet. Like, offensively sweet. The kind of sweet where people say, “Oh my gosh, she’s perfect,” and I just blink slowly because I already knew that. I am playful, but in a refined, elegant Woofington fashion. Think “spirited socialite at a garden party." As a proud member of the Woofington family, I carry myself with grace, charm, and just the tiniest sprinkle of main-character energy. I am affectionate, loyal, playful, and ready to be someone’s absolute favorite hello and hardest goodbye. Allow me to introduce myself properly. I am a 6-week-old, 6-pound female Chow Chow / Eskimo mix. Do we know that for sure. Absolutely not. Will the humans continue confidently tossing out breed guesses like they have a DNA crystal ball. Also yes. What we do know is this: I am an adorable fluffball and that fact is not up for debate. My breed mix could change 47 times between now and Tuesday and I would still be this level of cute. Now let’s discuss the part where everyone squints at me and says, “How big will she get?” The current prediction is somewhere in the 40-pound range. Somewhere. In the vicinity. In the general neighborhood of. And before you start drafting a contract in your head, let me remind you that rescue math is 80% guesswork and 20% vibes. If I end up 35 pounds? Delightful. If I end up 48 pounds? Still delightful. If weight projections are going to keep you up at night, it may be best you keep scrolling. I am not a build-a-bear with guaranteed settings. I came into rescue with my mama, Willow, my daddy, Walker, my sister Windy, and my slightly older, seasoned professional sister from a previous litter, Waverly. Yes, we are a whole fluffy dynasty. The Woofington-adjacent extended cinematic universe, if you will. So if you’re ready for a mystery-breed marshmallow who may or may not be part Chow, part Eskimo, part cloud, and 100% heart-stealer… Congratulations. You’ve found me. I love other dogs. Adore them. Idolize them. I think they are the greatest invention since kibble. My foster siblings? Obsessed. I follow them like a tiny, fluffy intern trying to learn the ropes of being fabulous. And the bigger puppies? Yes, I see them. Yes, they are three times my size. And yes, I absolutely march right up and attempt to join the festivities like I pay rent here. Fearless? Maybe. Delusional? Also maybe. But confidence looks good on me. Ah yes. The mysterious house panther. The whiskered enigma. The creature who believes eye contact is a personal attack. Have I met one? No. Given that I love seem to love everyone and generally believe everyone should adore me, I suspect I would attempt friendship. Whether the cat agrees is… another matter entirely. How do I do around kids? Another excellent question for someone who is six weeks old and has approximately seven life experiences. Have I been around children yet? No. Based on my current personality résumé, I would likely do very well with respectful kids. You know — the kind who understand that I am tiny, precious, and not a stuffed animal from the clearance bin. Gentle hands? Wonderful. Calm energy? Delightful. Snack-dropping tendencies? A true blessing. As with all things in rescue, it comes down to supervision, guidance, and teaching everyone involved how to coexist like civilized beings. I will bring the sweetness. The humans will bring the structure. Teamwork makes the fluff work. What would I rate my energy level right now between 1 and 10? First of all, I am six weeks old. I operate on a highly sophisticated schedule of Play → Crash → Repeat. On average? I’d say I’m around a 5. I zoom. I pounce. I dramatically tackle toys as if they have personally offended me. And then, approximately 12 minutes later, I collapse into a tiny, fluffy comma and require immediate nap time. My personality? Oh good. My favorite topic. I am sweet. Like, melt-into-your-hands sweet. I am playful, but in a charming, “oh look at her go” kind of way. And attention? Yes. I would like that. Regularly. Generously. Preferably on demand. If I feel I am not being adequately admired, I will politely issue the tiniest, most adorable little “woo-woos.” Basically, I am a tender little marshmallow discovering that the world is fun and that I belong in it. Oh good. We’ve arrived at the “responsibility” portion of this biography. I am six weeks old. I am six pounds. I am doing my absolute best simply existing and being this adorable. So here’s how this works. My new family needs to be fully prepared to potty train. You will also need to puppy-proof. Which means if I find it, it was left there for me. Shoes? That’s on you. Phone charger? That’s on you. Decorative basket you didn’t think I could reach? Especially on you. Socialization? Yes please. I am in my sponge era. I need positive introductions to new people, places, sounds, and experiences so I can grow into the confident, well-adjusted queen I am clearly meant to be. That doesn’t magically happen. That happens because you put in the effort. Training? Absolutely. I am smart. I am capable. I am willing. But I am not self-taught. I need guidance, structure, and someone committed to helping me learn the rules of civilized society. If you’re ready to invest the time, consistency, and patience it takes to raise a tiny fluff into a well-mannered masterpiece, then we’re going to be amazing together. If you’re hoping I arrive fully programmed with manners, emotional maturity, and a law degree… I suggest you adopt a houseplant instead. Now, let’s recap why I am an excellent life decision: I am the kind of puppy who will grow up believing you are her whole world. The kind who will prance proudly beside you, snuggle deeply, and “woo-woo” politely when she requires affection (which is often, but tastefully so). Now… logistics. Because love is magical, but paperwork is real. If you would like to adopt me, you must fill out an actual adoption application. Not a DM. Not a “still available?” Not a carrier pigeon. A real application. Why? Because it gets sent to my foster family so they can confirm you are, in fact, worthy of this level of fluff. Once approved, you will need to pick me up in Skiatook, Oklahoma. I can go home around March 14th, which gives you just enough time to puppy-proof your house, emotionally prepare your heart, and clear space on your camera roll. So here’s your cue: Stop scrolling. Fill out the application at https://www.pyrpawsandfluffytailsrescue.com/adoption-app Prepare for woo-woos. Secure the fluff. 💕 Whisper Woofington