They say a house is just not a home without a dog, and I found out over the last year, that 'they' are right.
Our beloved Weimaraner, Emma left us in April of last year, after ten years of laughter and love and runs on the trails of Collingwood. Since that horrible day, our house is very quiet, very empty and frankly, very clean. As Emma slipped away, I swore I would not open myself up ever again to the kind of heartbreak that comes with losing a marvelous pet.
For the last 16 months, my sweetie and I have been doing a lot of traveling and had a lot of weekends away; we've been having a blast without worrying about finding a caregiver, or being home at any certain time.
Even so, one day in March, I started making inquiries, and two weeks ago, our puppy was born. She's one of ten, and we don't know which one will be ours. Last time, we let the puppy 'pick us', if that makes any sense and we're eager to loll on the floor in a puppy swarm, meeting the charmer we will spoil horribly for the next decade or so.
Don't get me wrong, I think the Humane Society does wonderful work and I have heard the people who recommend rescue, but we want the breed we want, with its quirks and quandaries, and this new puppy is from the same line as the dog that brought us ten years of joy and laughs. Plus, we want to bring up baby from the beginning.
Thanks to technology, I've seen her and her nine siblings as they opened their eyes, took their first steps and ate their first solid food. I have made anyone who comes near me peer at the online videos and make googling noises as we exclaim about the puppies' little bellies and gorgeous coats.
So, indulge me a little after the first of October, when little Petunia or Matilda or Gretchen or Gigi or whatever her name is going to be, comes to live with us.
I'm already in love and I haven't even met her yet.