A while back, I promised to tell you about my dog, Luna. I sort of forgot—I think because she’s such a big part of my life these days I just spaced on the fact that my blog readers don’t automatically know about her. If you follow her tumblr, you’ve already seen her; if not…why not?
Today (as near as we can figure, since she’s a rescue), Luna is one year old, and in the proud, weepy tradition of parents everywhere, I’m going to reminisce for a while. The first time I saw her, she was a small, grainy photo on our local rescue’s website, and she looked like this:
She was six weeks old and had been dumped, without a mother or any littermates, out in the middle of nowhere during a very stormy spring. She was billed as a Great Pyrenees-Brittany Spaniel mix, and came with a warning that she would be big. I was not in any kind of place in my life to be having a dog. Our cat of seventeen years, Mitzy, had died just two weeks before; Jimmy and I both worked; our money was tight; we lived in a smallish condo—there were a million reasons not to get a dog, and we rehashed them all over the next few days. We couldn’t have a dog. We really shouldn’t have a dog.
It didn’t matter. This was my dog.
I convinced Jimmy, in an age-old scheme, to “just meet her! We’ll just go see her and if she isn’t right for both of us, we’ll walk away.” As we drove up to Second Chance’s sprawling grounds, her foster mom was waiting outside with her. I was in love before I even got out of the car. As we approached, she jumped up, tail wagging madly, and huffed as though she wanted to bark but was just too excited. We played with her for half an hour; she tumbled across our laps and chewed on Jimmy’s hair, and then we gently, reluctantly gave her back to her foster and took a walk around the grounds to talk it over. We’d agreed that we should meet her, go home for a few days, talk about it, and then, if we still thought it was a good idea, we should put in an application. As we walked away, another potential adopter arrived, and we watched as this woman held Luna’s leash, utterly ignoring her while she talked on her cell phone. At last, defeated, Luna laid down at her feet and put her head on her paws. I turned to Jimmy and he was looking at me. It was one of those moments when you know exactly what the other person is thinking; at least I hope it was, because if what Jimmy really wanted was a burrito, what I said next must have disappointed him:
“We’re getting this dog.”
We filed the paperwork and gave our references before we left, and three days later, we got the call that she was ours. She had to be spayed before she could come home with us, but we could come get her on June 2, coincidentally Jimmy’s birthday. We took her home and, despite a plethora of chewed shoes, chewed books, chewed furniture, and chewed clothes, we’ve never looked back. This was my dog, and I knew from the moment we saw her that we were going to love the bejeezus out of her. She grew like a weed, even though it pretty quickly became apparent she wasn’t Pyrenees—her shape became more spaniel-like every day, she adored the water, and she would occasionally stop and point at a bird or cat, looking very confused about what her nose and legs were doing. A DNA test claimed she had Collie and Papillon ancestry, which taught me very little except not to pay much attention to canine DNA tests. She seems to have plateaued now, right below 60 pounds. This works for me.
The last ten months or so, she’s been my best little buddy. We have similar interests, such as lounging…
…science fiction films…
…playing in the snow for like 15 minutes…
…and sourcing reclaimed wood.
Luna is demanding, high-energy, very enthusiastic about chewing, and glued to your side at all times. She can be trying, but there’s nothing like coming home from work and having someone so thrilled to see you that she literally can’t figure out what to do with her feet. She’s lovable, she’s funny, she’s exhausting; in short, she’s family. I love my girl, and I’m so glad we found each other. Happy birthday, Lu.