The Little Pack

We adopted Cheyenne three years ago this week and I am finding it hard to believe that:

a)  She is four years old.

b) It has been three years since that fateful day.

I will never forget that day as long as I live. We went to the adoption fair thinking we would adopt a puppy. They were australian shepherd mixes, and of course they were cute. But we didn’t bond with any of them. We had noticed Cheyenne because of her unusual markings. She slept in her kennel and we ruled her out since we couldn’t evaluate her personality. We left and came back countless times, and finally the last time she was out of the kennel, a huge smile on her face and we both looked at each other and agreed she was the one. We took her over to a field and tried to play with her, but she pretty much stood there looking bemused with us, slightly interested, but mostly confused. That’s okay, we thought, she’s nervous, this is a stressful situation. We discussed our fear that she was “too calm.” Could we have possibly tempted Fate any more?  On the way to the car, she sat down in the parking lot and refused to move. Apparently, this was foreshadowing for her favorite ways to embarrass and frustrate us.

Three years in has me musing about how quickly time flies, how far we have come with her and how far we still have to go, grateful for every minute I have spent with her and privilaged to be sharing my life with this crazy, brown spotted hilarious dog.

Chey Before

Hard to believe that it is nearly August and we have yet to take the dogs swimming. It has been such a cool summer that we simply haven’t gone. This picture is from last summer. I am hopeful that we will soon enjoy a warm sunny day at the beach!

Since his haircut, we have started calling Archie “Boots” and this picture illustrates why. At 17 pounds now, he has come a long way since the early days. As a baby, Archie personified sweetness in a little ball of fur. So tiny, with baby fine fur and the tiniest paws. He slept on my neck, and would put his little paw on my nose. Perhaps I was snoring, I don’t really understand it. The fur on his paw would tickle my nose and wake me up. This was the beginning of his “purr-coos”: purrs so loud and content, it sounds as though he is cooing.

This is a common sight in our backyard. She laps the house so quickly, often all we see is a brown streak racing by the window.

The story of Jackson began one day during my lunch break when I went to the animal shelter “just to look.” I finally lived in a place where I could have a dog and I was even able to bring a dog to work. I had been waiting to have a dog forever. I thought I wanted a black lab puppy, kind of the best of everything, easy going, lots of endurance for long runs and hikes, but also content just to hang out. I had lived with a border collie named Cowboy and a golden retriever named Sage, and although I absolutely adored border collies, I thought that a more mellow breed would be a good idea.

At the shelter, there was a crazy dog named Butch, who sprang up in the air continuously, a female golden retriever who was a little older, 7ish maybe. And then there were 2 border collie puppies, about 6 months old, named Ziggy and Marley. Marley could have cared less that I was there. He was mildly interested in me, but that was about the extent of it. But Ziggy, Ziggy came right up to the door of his cage and put his snout through the opening and gave me kisses. His broken heart was obvious and he was scared and insecure. I immediately felt a connection to this dog.

Someone suggested I take him into a separate area and spend time with him away from the other dogs. I put the leash on him and he stood facing away from me with his nose in the corner of his cage. I spoke to him in my most persuasive voice and still he did not  move. I had to pick him up and carry him into the other room. He continued to face away from me with his little face in the corner. I tried talking to him, but he was so afraid he just kept staring straight ahead. So I sat down next to him and removed the leash. We sat that way for a long time.

Pretty soon, he stopped staring in the corner, and turned to face me. I didn’t dare talk or even breathe because I didn’t want to spook him. He took a few steps towards me and I sat perfectly still. He laid down next to me and put his head on my leg and my heart just broke into a million little pieces. Before long, he had climbed up into my lap, and put his head inside my fleece and let me pet him. This was the moment I said to him, “I think that I need to take you home with me. OK?” So I did, and Ziggy became my Jackson.