So I’m not a dog person. At all, really. I never have been. I’ve never been especially fond of dogs and I’ve never been especially comfortable around them. Who knows, maybe it’s because I never grew up with a dog – we didn’t have one growing up (ok – we did, but it was gone by the time I was 3 and I have no recollection of it) and none of my good friends or people I spent significant time with had a dog either.
This all added up to me taking a firm stance saying that I would not ever be a dog owner. I have nothing against dog owners or even dogs in general, but with no fond memories of a dog or any real level of comfort around dogs, I just didn’t see why I would ever want to take on the added responsibility.
About three weeks ago, things changed.
I didn’t do it. I honestly had no idea that it was coming either.
I learned via text message. Picture message, actually. A picture message from Em that featured a tiny little tuft of white fur. This was my introduction to Wendy.
Apparently, the friends of friends of friends (something along those lines) were trying to get rid of a few puppies, and this must have seemed like the perfect opportunity to Em. So she did it. She got a puppy. Wendy.
Wendy was the runt of the litter; when I saw her at about 10 weeks, she probably weighed 3 pounds. Even now, about 3 weeks later, she probably only weighs 5-6 pounds. Little.
Somehow, little Wendy has pretty much completely won me over by this point. There’s something fun about having a little blob of white fur get extremely excited to see you. To run around and jump like a little crack puppy who is excited about everything. To be able to hold her easily in one hand and hoist her all over the place. I’ve (maybe we’ve) even taught her to fetch at this point.
So here I’ve gone from being staunchly opposed to being a dog owner, to singing, scratching, playing, and enjoying having a little puppy.
In fact, you may one day find me on the cover of “Dog Magazine” or in some IU promo photo shoots (photoshop out the beer can):