About four and a half years ago, I had an epiphany. I was to get a pet (said the forces that guide me) and train it to be a therapy animal. It wasn't my idea. Like I said, it came to me as if right out of the blue. I really didn't want to be tied down to a pet. I reasoned with myself and I argued with myself. My life was just becoming my own now with my kids being grown and I had left my weekend job I had had for YEARS. I was free to ride my motorcycle any time I wanted. Jesse and I could even go away for the whole weekend if that's what we wanted to do. Jesse is the man who I introduce as my hero - my boyfriend - my husband - my other half. He agreed with me that we should NOT get an animal. We were enjoying our freedom at last and that's the way it should be. Yes, we agree.
However, the 'guiding forces' would not be dissuaded. I started looking for some kind of pet that would be a good therapy animal. I thought it would be cool to have a therapy monkey. With a week or two of researching monkeys, I decided not to go that route. Monkeys are anything but easy to occupy, and a bored monkey is TROUBLE. A dog would be much easier. With that decision being clear, I started researching dog breeds. I've always had dogs, big dogs, and was able to train them fairly well. I decided I wanted a small, female dog with hair, not fur, so people wouldn't be allergic to her. She needed to be less than 25 pounds so she could be lifted onto a hospital bed. At that point I was beginning to have visions of visiting nursing homes. The thought made me happy and I started looking forward to being able to brighten the day of an elderly patient.
I narrowed my search down to four breeds. Bichon Frise, Yorkshire Terrier, Coton de Tulear and Poodle were my choices, in no particular order. I really liked the Bichon for many reasons. Again, Jesse objected. He had had a Bichon before and REALLY didn't want another one. He said they didn't get along. He wanted a Coton. I would have loved one too. Unfortunately the price of the Coton was too high. I was on a budget. I had rolled my change to pay for the dog and only had $375 to spend. It was going to be a challenge. I wanted a purebred dog to make sure of the 'hair, not fur' part and I wanted the pup to be young.
With Jesse's opinion being clearly voiced frequently enough that I couldn't forget his preference, I started calling breeders within 200 miles from my home. The prices were high, and no one had young puppies, they were all 12 weeks and older. None the less, I continued to call numbers from my list. I explained to the breeders what I was going to do. I asked for price breaks. I told them I was interested in pet quality, not a show dog. I let them know the dog would be spayed or neutered. The folks I spoke with were all very friendly and seemed to genuinely wish they could help. I had reached the end of my list and had only come up with one puppy within my price range that I could get without waiting for another litter to be born.
Resigned and discouraged, I planned a trip to Pennsylvania with my son to look at a 12 week old male puppy from what I suspected to be a puppy mill. I didn't feel good about it. I was so sick of searching that I would have bought the PA puppy for $350 just to end this daunting search. We were due to leave Friday afternoon, pick up the puppy Saturday morning and drive home. We were going to take turns driving straight through. Crazy, I know. Well... that trip never happened.
On Thursday I got a phone call from a man in Rhode Island. He said he got a call from a friend of his that I must have talked to. This man had puppies that would be eight weeks old the next week. They were too expensive, so he dropped the price. I was on my way to get the PA puppy the next night, so he said I could take his puppy any time I wanted to. He seemed REALLY eager to place his last puppy with me. I agreed to go look at the puppy that night. My son and I drove an hour to RI and found the house easily. We were greeted by the frisky daddy of the pup we had come to meet. The man brought the puppy to us and put him in my son's hands. He felt right when I looked at him. My son was still holding him when I paid the man $400. I had no doubt, no thought to the contrary. It was as natural as can be, like I was paying for a bag of groceries. I hadn't even held him yet, but I could just tell how right he was. In my life, when things are right, I can feel it. Like the next logical step. That mid December night in 2006, my son drove us home while I held this tiny, white, fluffy little boy in my arms. I had no way to know it then, but my life was never going to be the same as it had been before that trip to RI. We were a perfect match. Who would have guessed, after all my searching, it was him who found me.
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