mattaaaah

Well this past month marked my 12th year with my lovely dog, Cheyenne. She's 13 1/2, which is getting pretty old for a dog of her breed, mixed though she is. She's been with me through quite a lot in that time and I am very aware, and grateful, that having her at my feet made certain stretches livable. But I am also aware that a dog approaching 14 doesn't have many more sticks left in them to fetch, so to speak, and in the past year I've become more conscious of just how weak she is becoming.

Last night, as I was bringing her and my other dog, Stella, back in from a walk, Cheyenne couldn't make it up the stairs. Her hip apparently gave out and she slid backwards down the steps until she lay at the bottom, staring up at me with a confused and frightened look, unable to get back on her feet. I walked down, lifted her up, and carried her into my apartment, where I laid her down on her bed and sat with her for a while, petting her head and talking to her.

It reminded me of the day I found her at the animal shelter, curled up in the back of her stall, a contrast to the other dogs who were all jumping up and down and barking at me, doing the shelter-dog version of a hard sell. I poked my fingers in thorugh the lattice work of her pen door. She slowly stood to a crouch, and crept over to inspect my wiggling digits. Her cold nose touched them and sniffed. Then she moved slightly closer, enough for me to scratch her velvety nose.

The sign on her door said her name was Sofie.

Her goldish eyes and wolfy appearance gave me pause but I asked the attendant to get her out so I could see her. The attendant led us to a little area where I sat down to pet Sofie. She immediately curled herself up between my legs, shaking and scared, but glad for the attention. The attendant said that Sofie was dropped off by her family and confided that it appeared she had been neglected. I didn't actually need the woman to tell me that, Sofie's eyes told the story.

I told the attendant that I would have to think about it and I rose to leave. As I walked out the door, Sofie tried to follow me out rather than go back to her stall...at that moment I knew, if I hadn't already. I knew I would take her to a new home and give her a new name for a new life. A life that would be the polar opposite of neglect. It would be a life full of treats and dog parks and Christmas stockings and beds and couches and pets on the head and french fries and songs and nicknames and lazy friday nights and friends and family and balls and bones and love.

I went back to the attendant and said, "I want her."