Keep on the Sunny Side: With A Little Love And Some Tenderness

I have a lot of strong opinions about things, but I don't like to shit where I eat (so to speak), so I keep the politics to a minimum --usually -- unless I know I am in like-minded company. However, though I've never thought of it has a hot-button issue for myself, I've noticed recently that I've been bugging folks who I usually wouldn't bug (like my in-laws -- love you guys!) to do one thing: adopt from a pound instead of a breeder. I know they won't be swayed by my arguments or pleas, but I have been bugging nonetheless.

Growing up, we always had cats, and we always got them from the pound (or, once, from a "FREE" sign at Wal-Mart). I loved all of our cats, though most of them met a tragic end. Meow Meow, Mittens, Rex, Sinatra, Sugar, Marshmallow, and Sausage (the latter two are still going strong!). And the outdoor strays we "adopted" who came with whatever house we were living in at the time: Bastet, Oreo, Cookie, and Fatty. When one of the indoors would escape and either get run over or disappear never to be seen again, it wasn't long before we made another trip to the pound. It's not that losing one wasn't sad -- none of them were replaceable -- but there was more love that needed to be given. At least that is how I always thought of it.

Stephen and I got our cat Oliver at the pound when we made the decision to pet-parent together. When we decided to get a dog, the pound was the only place to look for me. I admit I was a bit nervous; we (meaning my sisters and I) never had a dog growing up. My mom always said we didn't have the space or the time for one, which I think was probably true. And I'm sure she would have been the one taking it out every morning, so I don't blame her for never letting us get a dog. So, anyway, I was worried because I knew a dog was a bigger commitment than a cat. I mean, you can't just dump a bunch of food and water in some bowls and leave for a week if you get the itch. As my grandpa, who absolutely never travels, says: "A dog will tie you down." But I've been feeling pretty spontaneous this last year (piano -- which is going well, by the way; bike -- more on that later), so I said, "Let's do it!"

Several trips to the pound and one heartache later, we found our girl: Toby!

Our little lady at the pound.

When we met her, she was very quiet and nice, and I was interested by her wiry hair. I'd never felt wiry dog hair before. I liked her markings and she just seemed right. So we took her home! My grandma (the animal lover, remember?) was excited when we got a dog. "Oh good! You don't even have to buy food! You just feed it dinner scraps!" Well, Toby actually eats better than we do, I think.

So anyway, we brought her home and were worried about what our cat would think. He's a mean thing, or as my mother so affectionately calls him, "Demon Cat." "You know you're going to have to get rid of that thing when you have babies!" When we brought T-girl home, Oliver was intrigued. He kept his distance but was definitely staring her down. Despite the fact that Oliver is disgusted by everyone and everything (except Stephen), they have actually become the best of friends! Oliver lets Toby lick his ears, and he secretly loves it! It is simultaneously nasty and precious.

Wow, I am very rambly today. Let's get this train back on the track. So Toby was delightful. So well behaved! The people at the pound had let us know that she had been tied up in a yard and not really taken care of. She had put on, I forget, 5 or 10 pounds already since she'd been in foster care. Stephen and I think she was not only neglected, but abused as well. Any time we'd go to put her leash on her to take her outside, she would duck and immediately roll on her back in complete submission. I started slowly kneeling beside her to leash her up instead of leaning over her. (Maybe you're supposed to do that anyway? Like I said, she's my first dog.) One time I was in the kitchen washing dishes and my hands were all soapy. She walked in, so I greeted her and lifted my foot to give her a little belly scratch with my toes and she hollered and ran away. It broke my heart!

Stephen and I have just tried to give her persistent affection and love over the last 8 months that we've had her, and bit by bit she has come out of her shell! She's much naughtier now, but that doesn't bother me since she feels safe and happy. She'll now crawl up into my lap on the couch -- and no, she's not a lap-sized dog -- and she plays with her toys now (which she didn't do for a very, very long time). She wags her tail so much! She hardly ever did that in the first few months we had her. She jumps on people, and I admit that so far I'm the pet owner who says, "If it bothers you, push her down!" I just love Toby's love, and I'm glad she is so happy. Eventually I suppose I'll work on more manners with her. Anyway, I'm not sure how to describe how much she has blossomed, but it has been an absolute pleasure to watch her learn to feel safe and loved. I am so in love with her!

So I guess what I'm saying is that why would I ever need to shell out hundreds of dollars because I want a dog to look "just so" when I can have Toby? She was a damaged, adult dog when we adopted her, and while I'm sure she was just the cutest puppy ever I would never skip over her just because she's grown up or just because she's hurting. She is just wonderful in every way, and I could never have imagined a dog like her, and she doesn't need to be "just so" because she is herself; and that is simply amazing! There are so many other doggies who have had a rough start in life who could blossom and be happy and healthy with just a little love.

With lots of love and a little time, our girl now looks like this: