Saturday, April 23, 2011

A dog saga. A doga?

Growing up, I never lived in houses, I always lived in apartments, townhouses and other rented dwellings. Because of this, we always had cats. My mom and I both considered ourselves cat people, and loved snuggling with the 3 or 4 cats we owned over my lifetime.

My first cat's name was Maynard. She was a black kitten I got for Christmas when I was five, and the only reason my five-year-old-princessy-self got a black cat is because I couldn't imagine having a boy cat, gross. And the black kitten was the only girl. So home she came. My biological father named her Maynard, because he was a little odd. (Still is, but that's an entirely different saga) I wanted to name her Fluffy. I was FIVE, give me a break.

We had two other cats as I was growing up, most notably "Bob" a big, fat, spaghetti eating cat we adopted from my aunt when my cousin L choked him so much he could no longer meow. (She was very little and is not a malicious person)

Then I moved out, my mom got remarried and my uncle and step-father became best buds. My cousin T (son to best-bud uncle) moved back to Minnesota, along with his two excellent dogs (and his wife and son, but this is about the dogs). My aunt and uncle quickly fell in love and got a dog of their own, Sadie.
Sadie as a puppy
Shortly after my parents bought their house, and Aunt and Uncle adopted Sadie, Paul needed a dog. So dog-huntin they went. They even tried to adopt one of Sadie's brothers or sisters, but they were all gone at that point. So they kept looking, for a German Shepard, which was my mom's requirement and they found Sasha. 

Sasha on the pontoon, at the cabin

While we were waiting to close on our house, our lease ended, so we stayed with my parents for two months. During this time, I wasn't working, as it was summer, and so I spent nearly every day with Sasha, who is really an amazing dog. 

I'd been converted. I was officially a dog person. I immediately started my campaign to N that I needed a dog as soon as we were moved into our house. He wasn't hard to convince, and about a month after we moved in, we adopted Kirby. 
We got Kirby from a local rescue, Homeward Bound, and we loved them, and Kirby so much we decided to foster with them. So we homed Ember for a couple months, while she waited to go home with a new family. 
Ember went home in November, and from all accounts she's incredibly happy. She definitely found the right place. Shortly after that fostering we went to Mexico, and so couldn't foster. Then, right after the new year, I had my last classes for my reading license, and one of them was on Saturday, which meant that we couldn't foster, because we wouldn't be able to get to all the Saturday adoption events. But, last Saturday I finished my classes (more on that later) and so I stopped by the adoption event to volunteer and pick up a new foster dog. 

FAIL. 

Instead of getting a new foster dog, I saw this guy: 

His name was Bongo, and he was a 4 month-old lab/pittie mix. I fell in love. In.Love. I called N and told him to bring Kirby up to the adoption event, because I found a dog I wanted and I wanted to make sure they'd get along.

So we brought him home. We changed his name to Yoshi and he spent Saturday and Sunday with us. Then he got sick. Really sick. N stayed home from work on Monday to bring him to the vet where we found out he had pneumonia. It was really quite scary for awhile, and we were a little afraid. We called the rescue people who took him back to take care of his treatment, and we picked him up today. 

He's all better, and he just needs to finish up his antibiotics, but he's eating and drinking normally, and is very puppy like now, which he wasn't last weekend. He's snoring by my side as I write this.

So, long story short: cat person becomes dog person, adopts two dogs, welcome Yoshi!


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