A
little over a year ago I brought home Buddy.
Aside from a few minor struggles (he ate money, credit cards and a smart
phone) we adapted quickly and fell in love. He sailed through obedience classes and became
a therapy dog. He has never met a stranger and absolutely loves children. As
time went on we realized that his quirky and sweet demeanor would be well
served with another dog.
“I don’t
want a five year old dog,” said my husband Greg. “I don’t want another dog that you picked,”
he continued. “I want my own puppy to
raise and love.” Thus began heated debates between us. I felt that we adopted
Buddy at a mere 6 months old and owed it to another dog, an older dog to take
one home. I pointed out the ease of sleeping, house-breaking and training an
older dog. I said this would not be a senior but a dog in the 3-5 year age
range, but to no avail. He stood firm in his decision. He had his full of
heartache with Carlie. Our shepherd/ collie mix who had been sick for two years
before we made the decision to put her to sleep in 2014.
Carlie had
been my dog to begin with. As I have described her in previous blogs my heart,
my friend, my child and my soul mate. But, I have a confession to make. I did
not bond with Carlie right away. She was
9 months old when I rescued her, but tested my patience, as if she was a
newborn puppy. Timid and scared, she was almost impossible to socialize. She refused to eat certain things. She would
get frustrated and swing her head back, causing me many a swollen nose. Not to mention the exercise she required. If
she didn’t get it, she would escape from the house to run and run and run.
Somewhere
along the line I fell in love with her. I
remember it was she I curled up with when I realized what a mistake my first
marriage was. Carlie was also the only
thing I wanted in my divorce. She was my
constant through years of upheaval and my comfort during the good times. As
much as I loved her, I always vowed that if I adopted again it would be an
even-tempered older puppy or a laid back adult.
A
co-worker posted Zoey (than named Lexi) onto my Facebook page one Saturday
morning. She looked like the sister of
the puppy that Greg had attempted to adopt the day before, only to realize he
had been third in line to see her and the first family adopted her. I quickly contacted her foster mom and let her
know we were interested. “Babe, babe,” I woke up Greg. “There is another dog
for adoption only 7 weeks old. That Rottweiler/Shepherd mix type you love.” He
rolled over and took a quick look, “nice,” he managed. “Should we consider her,”
I asked and received Greg’s nod of consent. I wasted no time in becoming the first
applicant for the puppy.
Some
reference checks and a home visit later, where Greg picked Zoey up and said
simply “I want her,” she is on her way to us this evening. Am I excited? Absolutely, I would love any
dog, especially one rescued from a kill shelter like this sweet girl. Am I scared?
No, not really, I know it will all work out in the end. Am I worried? Yes,
completely worried. I am worried we won’t bond right away. I am worried Greg may regret the decision,
even just for a day. I am worried that Buddy will be hurt or jealous and I am
worried that the cat may retreat even more with two dogs in the house. I am
worried that most of my friends think I am insane, as I am close friends with very
few animal lovers. I am worried that precious little Zoey will not be happy
with us.
I also know that these fears are
naught. That after a few months we will all adjust and be a different type, but
very happy family. It is typical to be
anxious with any changes, especially those that involve living beings.
So send us well wishes as a new
chapter begins. I am sure I will have more to write about soon….
Nobody
