Every Dog Has Its Day

For most of my childhood I have wanted a dog.  This desire was fueled primarily by the book Where the Red Fern Grows, and by my dad's absolute refusal to get one.  In hindsight, his logic was sound.  Our home was quite small (a starter home with three bedrooms that ended up housing six people), with a correspondingly small yard.  In addition, we traveled frequently.  Yet the thought was never entirely far from my mind.

While on a business trip in Texas this past November, a number of my colleagues got to talking about family pets.  When I mentioned having always wanted a dog, my roommate asked, "Well, why don't you get one?"  With a thrill of realization, I thought, why not?  I was living on my own for the first time, and my boyfriend Ben had recently lost his cat to feline leukemia.  

Upon my return, we visited several pet stores, and considered buying a gorgeous boxer puppy (but balked at her $1200 price tag), before ultimately deciding on a male golden retriever puppy.  He caught my eye at the pet store, lying in the window with the side of his face pressed up against the glass, much like I used to do to help pass the boredom of long car rides.  I named him Jack.  It has been a trying few months, but I would not trade them for the world.  Particularly now that I am unemployed, he is my constant companion while Ben is at work.  Even now, as I type this, he is under my left arm, nudging insistently to get me off the computer and go play.  He is adorable, playful, rarely moody, and I love him.