We were incredibly creative with names, too. Our guinea pig was Willow (he squealed like he was constantly dying), our hamster's name was J.R., it stood for 'Jill Rachel', named after myself and my little sister. My older sister found out within the last year and she was devastated her name wasn't included, however, at the time, she had her frogs, Forrest and Jenny. J.R. froze to death in a winter storm that knocked out the power in our town. He's currently buried in a popcorn box in our back yard.
Why our parents let their old, European style, antique-filled home be a farm of random, smelly animals, I'll never know. But, I'm incredibly thankful they did.
Pets are automatic friends. And it's a nice feeling.
My life started off with a white, fluffy dog. She was an American Spitz named Puff. She'd been around since I was born. Puff was a gift from my dad to my mom as an engagement present in 1980, so really, she'd been around 6 years before I was even born.
Until third grade, she accompanied me on adventures in the backyard, roamed around the house with me when I was bored, and slept on the couch when I was sick. She was a great dog to start my childhood with.
On a cold day in third grade, my sisters and I took a trip out to the vet with my parents. Puff was 13, old, partially blind, and had a lot of wear in her joints. She didn't move around as much as she used to, and she had made a family has happy as she could. My sisters and I walked back into a concrete area where she was lying, gave her a few pets, shed a few tears, and left incredibly sad. The vet, along with my parents, decided it was time for her to go.
The year gap in between dogs made me feel anxious. I don't remember a whole lot, because I was pretty young, but I remember wanting a dog, wanting to come home from school after a bad day to someone wagging their tail and happy to see me. To lick my face and cuddle me on the couch or floor, or wherever we ended up really.
In fourth grade, my parents had realized it was time to introduce a new dog to the family. We were old enough to understand and learn the responsibility of a pet and the house felt somewhat empty without a dog.
My dad had the humane society setup in the parking lot of his grocery store, and we were excited to go check the dogs out. They had labs, golden retrievers, and all kinds of happy, excited puppies! We played and let them sniff us out, only to go home empty handed.
Later that night, my dad came home. He said the humane society had found families for all the dogs, except one. He was a mutt. Black body, brown head, white belly, and wagging tail.
We named him Charlie.
Charlie defined 'mutt.' We had no idea of his breed, we just knew he was happy with us.
Charlie played, cuddled, and ran. Oh, did Charlie run! As soon as the back door opened, that dog was halfway down the block. With age, I've realized maybe he just wanted a bit of freedom before he came back to the house. He always came back.
In high school, Charlie made a friend in a kitten we had gotten from a family friend. His name was Oliver. Oliver was a lone wolf, sneaking outside to catch birds and roaming around the neighborhood, but he knew where his family was.
My Junior year of college, on a Thursday morning, my mom called me. I had visited the weekend before and saw the state of our now old-in-age pup. He didn't move much and I hand fed him sandwich meat just to get him to eat something. When I left back to school, I said 'goodbye' fully aware it'd be my last chance.
The phone call didn't last long, just the somber news that Charlie had passed. He was riding along in my dad's truck to the vet. My dad didn't even make it there before he noticed Charlie was lifeless. Later the next year, we got news that Oliver had died in the hot summer heat, probably after being hit by a car and scooting over to the side of the road.
It was a really sad year for our family, but one that you have to know is coming if you take on another life. One day, your loyal pet will pass and they'll take a piece of your heart with them.
I hadn't had a dog since Charlie. My parent's got a lab puppy, we named Tiny after my Grandpa, and I had a cat for little awhile, Andie, who watched Wimbledon with me every year. But she's living the good life at my parent's house where she's free to roam the upstairs and jump in the bath, dipping her head under the faucet, and then snuggling up in the dirty laundry pile.
I've always wanted another dog. Another dog to give love and attention to.
After a little convincing to our landlord, I was finally able to hop in the car and head to the humane society.
My boyfriend and I originally had gone to visit with an Australian cattle dog mix named Kirby. His picture was adorable and, when we saw him at the humane society, he was licking the glass, jumping up and down, and genuinely excited to entertain us.
But next to Kirby, lying on a little bed and staring at us through the licked-up glass door, was Alastair.
His information sheet said he was a German Shepard, Yellow Lab mix, 7 months old, and a 'busy bee.'
There's not a lot you can get from those information sheets, other than his last check-up, shots update, whether he'd been fixed or not, the usual.
After putting him and Kirby on a list to visit with, we sat and waited for a free room to interact with them. I picked to play with Al first.
We finally got called and walked into an empty, smelly room filled with toys. I sat down. I was shaking. I was incredibly nervous and I have no idea why. It felt like a first date. I was going to meet this guy and possibly make a huge commitment.
Al was brought in to us and I immediately threw a tennis ball to get him to play. He watched the ball fly across the room, and instead of chasing it, he came in between me and Jake and just sat.
We gave his head a good pat and listened to all the information the lady was telling us and then he just let his head fall into my lap. I looked at Jake and just had a feeling about Al. I know you shouldn't really base live altering decisions of 'feelings,' but when it comes to getting a pet, I feel like how he first introduces himself is a big deal. He didn't jump on me, he didn't bite me, he just sat and let us pet him.
His tail wagged and within 30 minutes, Al was in our car headed home.
Since then, we've had some learning experiences, cleaned up his messes, or as I like to call them 'accidents,' and gone on at least 3 fifteen minutes walks a day, just to try to wear him out.
Our first visit to the vet, he commented on how big Al was and how his paws were very similar to that of a Great Pyrenese. Yikes. Al could end up being 120 lbs? What would I do with him? Tie him up to a chain in a huge fence near a ball park and nickname him 'The Beast' so a group of pre-teen boys would be afraid to hit their baseballs over and try to get them? (Yeah, okay, a real-life version of 'The Sandlot' would be pretty sweet.)
80% of my day with Al is fantastic. He's learned to sit, stay, and lie down so quickly, which I honestly expected based on his mix of incredibly smart breeds.
The other 20% is spent wanting to go on long walks, chasing squirrels, chewing on flip-flops, and running around the house like he stole something (I'm just trying to throw in as many sports movie quotes as possible-'Remember the Titans,' for example).
But Al is coming into his own. He's learning fast and really enjoying a nice place to live. We had learned he was kind of 'in and out' of the system, so to speak, and maybe didn't have the best family the first time he was adopted, and I really think he can sense we're going to take care of him for as long as possible.
I know, eventually, hopefully years and years away, it'll be Al's time like it was for Puff, Charlie, Oliver, the fish, Willow, the frogs, and J.R., but that's what investing your time and love into a pet is all about. You love them unconditionally, because if you treat them well, they will absolutely do the same for you. They take a piece of your heart with them when they die, but you get a piece of them, too, and I think that bond is really special.
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