Recently, I shared with y’all the passing of my original quilting pal and our furry family member, Lulu the boxer. To say we were and are devastated would be an understatement. The house was too quiet even though I can count on one hand the number of times she barked and the daily routine of tending to her was so ingrained, we were all at loose ends.
There was talk of a future pet, something smaller, but not right now when everything was still fresh and raw.
Fast forward a few weeks and I attended quilt retreat. I arrived home flush with victory over my many finishes. As a quilter, is there anything better than a bona fide finish? I think not.
Anyway, I’d barely made it through the door when Himself confessed to putting in an adoption application at a local animal rescue.
For a, wait for it….
Hold the presses.
We’d just lost an 83 lb boxer and now were in the running to adopt a 12 1/2 lb dachshund. Pardon me, but where the heck was the rest of the dog? Never mind the fact Himself said “No small dogs”.
Three days later, Ziva was ours.
She’d already been named before we even knew we were going to get her…even before I’d made it home from retreat. That’s optimism, folks.
It’s just been a week and we are already in tune with her whims and wants. Apparently little dogs know how to exert their will better than their larger counterparts.
When it’s bedtime, it’s bedtime and you better not be getting up for anything. Need a drink or trip to the potty? Pay the piper,my friend, and listen to her bark her admonition.
She’s a pistol.
Hug your furbabies tight, y’all.