I went with an open heart knowing that the chance for me to get a dog would be high. I saw a picture of him about a month before I met him and he had just come out of a pond. Now that I think about it, he’d just come out of the pond that was already very close to my heart, a very important pond, but that’s a different story, different dog. He had come out of the pond after trying to walk on it, and it turned out he could swim, also very important. So that was the first photo I saw of him, the funniest looking puppy I had ever seen.
I knew he was available for adoption, or would be soon and I knew I was about to meet him. I also knew he was not my kind of dog. I was looking for a large white dog. Since losing my large white dog, I have missed the lean of a tall heavy dog folding into my legs with enough pressure to feel safe, but not so much as to get knocked over. A dog that can do that is worth her weight in gold, actually worth my weight. I knew I wanted a big white dog.
Cricket came to greet me from his kennel bright and early Monday morning. He was very young, very wiggly, and very cute. No more wet soaked head, he had a charming personality from the first. I waved hello, murmured a few expletives and walked away. I would meet him officially in an hour or two and I already had that funny feeling. It would be my sixth funny feeling in the last 22 years and I knew what it meant.
We had fun together our first day. My LITTLE 7 pound BLACK training partner and I had a blast. By day 2 when he picked up a pair of sun glasses and pranced into the training center with them, I looked down and stated rather matter of factly, “you’re coming home with me”. As we worked together all week, I kept looking down at him reminding him he wasn’t a big dog, nor was he white. He was however a “he”, which by the way, was an absolute non-negotiable factor with two feisty females already at home. As the days went by, I was falling more and more in love with “not my kind of dog”.
It really didn’t surprise me that I was interested in this LITTLE guy. After all, my dog before my last dog wasn’t “my kind of dog” either. As many of you know, I am quite fond of Beagles. Not all kinds but the darker tri-color Beagles usually melt my heartstrings, (reader now looks up at my logo). I’m also very fond of yellow Labs, the lighter the better.
I think it all comes down to one thing when it comes to the world of dogs in our life. We never know who our “kind of dog” is until we meet him. If our heart is open and we can let him in, we benefit by the relationship for the rest of our lives.
Six weeks later brings us to today. As my little adopted black training partner, (now a kona’s touch personal dog) waits for me to pick him up at the vet, where he’s just had surgery, I worry like crazy. Is he safe, is he scared, is he hungry, is he alone? All the clues that tell me he is definitely my kind of dog. All the clues that tell me I have once again allowed myself to be open hearted enough not to miss this chance of being with my new canine buddy. I can’t wait to pick him up and know he’s in my care again and that he is safe and not alone.
I can’t wait to see him after this quiet, peaceful day without him in my quiet calm house. What I feel like now is to heck with calm and peaceful, bring on the LITTLE BLACK dog who won my heart.