Six Years Ago...

... that uncertain, overwhelmed 10-week-old puppy I brought home was born.

I knew we were in it for the long haul, as I had picked her out as my "first" choice, then opted for another pup that died two weeks later, then returned to take in another one, come hell or high water. I knew if I didn't "get back on that horse" sooner than later, I'd never chance having a dog of my own again.

She didn't ride in a crate in the backseat and cry all the way home, staring out the back window at the ranch, the only home she'd ever known, getting smaller in the distance, like her sister did.

She rode quietly in my lap, while my mom, who went with me, drove my car.

She clung to me, the only constant between one life and the next. She went from the ranch, to my car, to my parents' house, where she hid under my chair while we ate burgers, and I bribed her with food. We bonded over french fries. She was so quiet, morose, laid back and unaffected that my parents decided they wanted one of their own. I knew it really was a kind of depression or adjustment period, and that there was no way of knowing what other dog in the litter might have a similar personality, but they still happily brought her brother home with them, and today is his 6th birthday, too.

She rode in my lap as I drove home. I took her out into the backyard at the trailer house I was renting with my sister, put her down, hoping to begin housebreaking, and she made repeated attempts to climb up my leg and back into my arms. When I wouldn't pick her up, she stared in confusion and began to yelp and howl.

Her little baby heart was broken.

So was mine.

But I knew better than to give in. I knew that it wasn't exactly the right time for me, emotionally, to take on rearing another dog, that it was too soon. That I ran the risk of winding up with a neurotic, unstable dog. But I knew I had to push on.

She wasn't content sleeping in the crate at night, like her sister was. Even the ol' "shut her in the bathroom" trick didn't work like it did with her sister. She ended up sleeping beside me in my bed, on a towel in case of accidents. That turned out to be the only way I could even get her to allow me to sleep until a reasonable hour. Her insistence at waking at 5am, going out to pee and being ready to play was soon nipped in the bud by my rubbing her belly until we both fell back asleep for a couple more hours.

In true herding dog form, she made getting dressed every day a chance to teach and train, going after the legs of whatever pants I was putting on, trying to tug them off as I attempted to pull them up, then chasing them around and around while I made the bed. Her sister never did that, either.

She didn't know her daddy when he first came  home after working out-of-state during the first 9 months of her life with me, and barked at him for two straight weeks every time he would leave a room, and then re-enter it, as if she forgot who he was in that short time and felt he wasn't supposed to be there. Over the years, she grew quite accustomed to his comings and goings, particularly his long absences due to work. She was always happy to see him when he returned, but readily accepted that his presence was not going to be a constant, like mine.

She grew bigger, first being too long to curl up in my lap while I drove anymore, settling, instead, for laying her head in my lap and her body across the arm rest and stick shift. Eventually, she gave up riding with her head in my lap, and claimed the entire front passenger seat for herself. Many days followed, where I would fling an arm out to stop her from flying forward as I braked suddenly. The day her head connected with the dash, I made her start riding in the back seat.

I don't have that car anymore, but I still have her.

She made the cross-country move with me to Indianapolis when she was little more than a year old.
Unwittingly, we moved into a very bad neighborhood. I let her be the one to tell me who was good people and who not to be friendly to. My husband still says we will never have any idea just how much she has done for me, to keep me safe, to deter unwanted attention from the wrong kind of people, during that time. I believe he is right.

She's been good with the new human additions to the extended family, good with other dogs, great with other pets, though if I am short on patience with the cats, she follows suit.

She doesn't like to get her nails clipped, though I have been doing this weekly since she was a puppy, and handled her feet the way the vet instructed.

She's still very, very bad in the presence of squirrels, as well as bunnies and even stray cats.

She's also very, very patient with me, and forgiving when I am less than the shining example of a dog-rearing person I should be.

Happy Birthday, Kansas!