I used to say that about politics, but sadly, nothing in politics amazes me anymore. Now I say it about my dogs.
You know my dogs: Jack and T (aka, Pickle). The Vatos. Dos Vatos. You know their stories; real sob stories, the worst I’ve ever heard of dogs whom I’ve adopted. They were such hard cases, and I was so not ready for another hard case. My mija, Gracie, had died just the day before and although they were supposed to be “temps” to keep me company till I felt better, the more I saw the lingering effects of their past histories the more I loved them. They amazed me.
In all my years of rescuing and adopting dogs, one thing I’ve learned to be true: the harder the history the bigger the heart. That’s certainly true of Jack, who constantly amazes me still with his generous nature and his loving heart.
When I brought Mouse into our home, I was sure that the guys would have a hard time accepting her as a member of “our” pack.
Jack is my baby boy, and just the sound of lips smacking from another room will send him sprinting to find out who the hell is kissing me. From the day he jumped into my car for the first ever ride home he’s been my snuggle buddy, my bubbe, my loyal and patient and ever-present companion. T is more independent, but at heart he’s just like a little kid who needs his mama. He sleeps on the pillow above my head; he naps with his little arms hugging me and his snout tucked under my chin. He stands on me, literally stands on my chest, when he has something important to say.
The three of us have grown so close and so attached over these past 5 years; I just didn’t think there was room for another dog. I’ve tried you know, five other times. The other dogs didn’t fit, and I had to particular reason to think that Mouse would. But she did. Like a missing puzzle piece.
I’m amazed that the guys are not only not jealous, but they’re perfectly okay about the whole thing. Jack’s sort of taken Mouse under his wing. He naps with her, lets her crawl into his bed beside my desk when I’m working. When they all get a piece of treat, she takes hers and eats it while laying down next to Jack, who doesn’t growl or nip or try to steal her goodies.
I’m amazed that T, who can so possessive of me when Mr. Susan is nearby, feels not the least bit threatened when Mouse comes to snuggle up by my side. He hasn’t growled once; even when she’s ventured too close to his dinner bowl.
And even Mouse; she spent 30 days in the city shelter and was sure to be euthanized because she was so terrified by the sights, sounds and smells of her surroundings that she wouldn’t visit with anyone; she didn’t have a “happy face” to put on when people walked past her pen. Even Mouse has adapted so quickly and so well to our routine. She’s even started to warm up to the camera. She amazes me.
I’ve struggled with spreading my affection for the dogs over three of them now; my friends have been so supportive and, mostly, understanding of why I go through what I go through. They get it. They get me. I’m taking as much of that good advice as my brain will let in, and it’s helping, and we’re all adapting to loving another little being.
Constantly amazed. The adaptability is remarkable, and I know that all of you who’ve taken an emotionally or physically wounded rescue into your homes have seen it yourselves.
Hell, my dogs, who used to live in the most deplorable conditions with absolutely no human touch or love have adapted to this life so well that they no longer eat ice cubes as treats; they like the ones that come from my lemonade and they’ll literally spit out a plain one.
Like I said: adaptable. And amazing. My three dogs.