The Puppy Chronicles

It's been fifteen years since I've had a puppy, a Chihuahua I named Maya. I loved her so much, that when she turned two, I went back to the breeder and got her a little brother, named Rascal. Never more than four and seven pounds respectively, they were my forever puppies, my babies even until adulthood and eventual crossing of that rainbow bridge. Rascal's passing just a mere six months ago was more than my heart could bear and I didn't think I would ever have another dog, at least not for a very long time. I felt he deserved a proper mourning period and honestly, I wasn't sure if my heart had the capacity to love so perfectly again. Well, I was wrong.

After much thoughtful contemplation and family discussion, we decided to bring a German Shepherd ~mix~ puppy into our lives. Born on a nearby farm, we rescued a female from a litter of nine and named her Valkyrie. Poor baby was covered in fleas, so we brought her home, gave her a warm Dawn bath and then my daughter spent two and a half hours lovingly removing every last flea with quiet determination and a flea comb. Val slept through the night that first night and I was certain we had won the puppy jackpot. This is going to be a piece of cake, I thought. Oh, how naïve we can be when we want to believe something so badly. She was a dream! I was miffed when I was told she was going to be BAD. I was incensed when I was told to give her back, to take her to a no kill shelter, because what we were doing was unfair to her, we couldn't possibly raise a big dog in a little apartment... and I let that doubt take seed and fester. I began second guessing. What was I thinking? Had we made a mistake?

I'm pretty sure we block out the puppy weeks, otherwise we would never entertain the idea of ever having another... the chewing, sleepless nights, potty training, chewing, vet bills, chewing, de-worming, crate training, and did I mention, the chewing! Our hands and feet are battle scarred from being attacked by razor sharp baby puppy teeth. Oh sure, we have purchased Greenies, toys, Kongs and bully sticks, but she still manages to tear into soft flesh on a daily basis. She has also decided that the coffee table legs are fair teething game, so we have covered them with turquoise blue knee high pink flamingo print socks. Tufts of carpet have gone missing under the couch where she hides out, and we have rearranged most of the furniture to keep her from chewing the power cords plugged into the wall. We gave up on puppy training pads because she kept shredding them with her teeth. It has been a mighty struggle and we are exhausted. That being said, when she looks right through me with literal puppy dog eyes, I forgive her anything. I love her.

I know it won't always be like this. I'm trying to remind myself to soak it all in: her puppy breath, the way she bounces when she takes off running, her soft puppy fur, the baby softness of her uncallused puppy feet, her first treat, first car ride, first toy and the pure innocence of her approach to the world. She gets so excited for sticks and flowers, long walks and zoomies, belly rubs and kisses. Part of me wants her to remain that forever puppy like Maya and Rascal and the other part can't wait for her to get fully grown, to be our protector, our adventure buddy and best friend.