I’ve spent the last 3 months going through a process of grieving and then adjusting to being a 1-dog household. I was pretty sure I wanted to keep it that way. So much quieter! So much easier!
But, the conviction faded as my heart healed more and more. Then I began to feel maybe I was being selfish to keep the possibility of a new companion away from Jack. Or as I began to say: I’m pretty sure Jack was using his super powerful brain waves to tell me it’s time for a puppy.
So I opened my heart more and more to the possibility, and then I began surfing the listings at the SPCA. That’s how you know you’re done-for.
My two desires were: not another shepherd cross, and not too big. Those were nice ideals while they lasted.
We met Lucy when she’d only been at the shelter 2 days. She was being held until she could be spayed so we had a few days to visit and think about it. But really, we were sold from the first belly rub. She is a very warm, eager, and bright puppy.
This is how I pictured today: We’d pick up a dopey, convalescing pup from the clinic. Bring her home, and she’d sniff around some, and curl up to sleep. I would get to work for the afternoon and be brilliantly productive. Bwahaha!
How it actually played out: Rambunctious puppy bounded around the clinic waiting room, bulldozing everything in site with her cone of shame. We drove home with her half on my lap, marveling at how FREAKING HUGE she is already. We took the cone off before she even got into the house so she and Jack could socialize better.
The next several hours were spent telling her “No” and giving her alternatives as she tried to chew, tug, jump up on just about everything in sight.
It’s been so long, we totally forgot about the need to puppy-proof the house.
So much for my brilliantly productive afternoon.