Good Things Come in Small Packages by Lynne Marshall

First off, I’d like to invite everyone to visit my guest blog appearance at Romance University this Wednesday, November 28th where I’ll be discussing the secret to likable characters.

Now, on with the story.

A couple of weeks ago I had a birthday.  I don’t like birthdays anymore because, well, at this point it’s just another day.  That is, just another day with the strong prospect of a great dinner out somewhere.

At some point, as the big day approaches, my husband will dutifully ask me what I’d like.  Another reason birthdays become just another day is because at this stage in life, we’ve both basically got what we want.  We don’t have great desires to own adult toys like boats or RVs anymore (nor can we afford them).  We are content with our home, (not anywhere close to a McMansion) and our belongings.  We are blessed with enough to enjoy a nice vacation or two each year.  You catch my drift.

Okay, so this year I planned my sting well in advance, because I knew exactly what I wanted for my birthday.  I waited for that moment when my sweet, unsuspecting husband asked, “So what would you like for your birthday?”  Then I pounced!

“I’d like a dog of my choice.”   I saw the net cover my husband, who did a noble job of trying to hide his horror.  (Side story:  We lost our second beloved family dog approximately nineteen months ago.  It is very hard on my husband to put down our aging or sick dogs.  He never wants to do it again.)  After a few seconds of quiet hesitation, he cleared his throat and, because I am the woman he loves, he said, “Okay.  If that’s what you want.”

So off we went looking for a dog.  I had a fuzzy vision of a moderate-sized dog.  An older dog, perhaps. We’ve always rescued big, muscular dogs.  My husband’s preference is Rhodesian Ridgebacks.  Well, I’m getting older, and if a Ridgeback decided he wanted to go one way and I wanted him to go another, I’d be sunk. So I was thinking of that smaller dog.  Nothing more than, say, forty pounds at full size. 

Turns out our next door neighbors, who are also our card playing friends, invited us out for brunch on my birthday.  Then they proceeded to park in front of a storefront small dog animal shelter a couple of doors down from that breakfast place.

Coincidence or fate?

After brunch I asked if I could have a look around the Helping Hands small dog shelter which is a non-euthanasia rescue group, so at least I didn’t have to feel guilty walking out.  Again, my wonderful husband, who really didn’t want a new dog—especially right then and there because that’s his personality, whereas I’m more impulsive—agreed to wait outside while I looked around.

I stepped inside to chaos, noise, and a very distasteful smell.  Cages and cages lined the walls, three dogs to a cage.  The noise was deafening.  Every single dog barked and yapped…except for one.

This little white-and-buff colored dog with lopsided ears lay in his cage quietly watching the ruckus.  His cage mates were going crazy, but not this little guy.  We made eye contact and he offered his paw through the cage.

That was it.  I fell in love with the mild mannered dog right on the spot.  No more need to shop around or visit the local shelters for that moderate-sized dog.  I’d lost my heart to a pipsqueak Terrier mix.

We were told he was born on the fourth of July behind an air conditioner in a backyard.  The owners gave all three puppies to the shelter.  That meant this sweet dog they’d named “Snoop” only knew a life of cages.

If you follow me on Facebook, you know how this story turned out.  We brought our rescue dog home that very morning, and because he was mild mannered, we renamed him Milo.  He weights eleven pounds, and is the sweetest dog on the planet.  (Aren’t they all?)

This story definitely has a happy-ever-after for Milo.  He lives and thrives at our house, has access to a yard where he loves to gallop back and forth, he has his own toys, and even a cuddly blanket vest for night which is the only time he goes back into his spacious crate for a good night’s sleep.  We’re working on getting him more comfortable on walks, but everything in this new world is so big and loud and, well it scares him.

On December 4th we begin our obedience training, and life will get even better.

As my son teased when he heard about Milo– “Mom, I never thought you’d get a purse dog.”

Well, son, neither did I.

Have you ever bought a pet on a whim?  How’d that work out for you?

Until next week, make it a great one!


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2 Responses to Good Things Come in Small Packages by Lynne Marshall

  1. Robena Grant says:

    I tried to sing and block out your words because, like your husband, I want another dog but I don’t want another dog. : ) Seeing your photos and remembering the puppy days and the training days and the sheer joy of all that love makes me think I want to do it all over again.

  2. Hi Robena,
    Maybe this will help. Accidents (both kinds) in the house – he thinks the living room rug is outdoors, sigh. He likes to dig. Oh, no, that puts him on my husband’s s%*t list. Found out he has giardia and needs special medicine, plus, the poor guy has worms. He got the shot yesterday.

    But his unconditional love and joyfulness and cuteness and his trying to do right all make up for the above.

    Gee, that must have helped you make up you mind, eh? LOL