I’m way behind.
My darling Zoe turned 12 almost a month ago, and I’m just now getting around to posting it. Oy.
Anyway, there’s not really much to say, other than she’s my heart and deserves her own post. (Jimmie, if you’re reading this, you’re my heart too. She’s just my furry heart.)
When I was in high school, I begged and begged for a dog. Finally, my senior year I convinced my mom to let me get one. I’m not sure which came first…finding Zoe, or convincing my mom that a dog was a good idea. It might have been Zoe that convinced her, for all I remember.
I had gone to the shelter to look at the dogs, like I sometimes did. There was this litter of little tiny puppies. There were two or three white ones, a couple black ones, and probably a brown one. I’d had my heart set on a Golden Retriever for years, and the little white ones looked perfect to me. And they were girls. So which one to choose?
I watched them for a little while, stuck my finger in and petted them, and tried to decide. They were so cute! Then I noticed that one of them was trying to escape…she was climbing up through the little ring that was supposed to hold the water dish. She was just hanging there with her back feet dangling, and I knew she was the one. Calm, normal puppies? No thanks, I want the weird one.
I made my mom leave work to go look at her, and we signed the papers that day. She had to be fixed, so we had to wait a few days, but finally we could bring her home. I’ll never forget that car ride…she climbed up my shirt, and wrapped herself around the back of my neck.
The first night, we’d planned to let her sleep in a cardboard box by my bed. We weren’t barbaric…she just wasn’t potty trained, and we didn’t know about crate training, and we thought the cat carrier would be too scary. So we gave her one of my tshirts, and put her in there. I think it took her about 4 tries (and as many minutes) to climb out. Every time I’d put her back in, she’d whine and climb out again. I’m sure you can see where this is going….she ended up sleeping with me that night. And every night since.
The rest is history. We’ve been through a lot together…it wasn’t always easy. I got mad at her a lot. She got mad at me a lot. But we figured it out. I taught her tricks, and sort of taught her manners. She and Jimmie gradually accepted each other, and now she adores him as much as she adores me. She’s sitting next to me right now. Where I go, she goes.
She’s had heartworms, and she’s got hip dysplasia. She’s getting a little senile and doesn’t move as quickly as she used to. She molts in the spring and fall, and every time I think she’s dying of some horrible disease. She barks at shadows and falling leaves, and paces during thunderstorms. She’s wild for pot roast, and even though she hated it as a puppy, now loves peanut butter. She can’t chew pig ears anymore, but she’ll still do anything for a liver treat. And she still loves her Clicker Dog.
I could go on and on about her, but I won’t, at least not now. Instead, I’ll leave you with pictures.