I'm kind of a packaged deal these days.

  

I was never a big dog person growing up, ya know, getting your ear pierced and halfway ripped off by the mighty basset hound named Rambo might have had something to do with it. Hey, at least I got to have the other one pierced to match it - something my dad was a stickler on.  Thanks buddy! Anyway, I thought of a dogs as big, slobbery, really smelly..things. 

In fact, whenever we needed to be punished as kids, we were forced to 'hound-walk.' Far worse than grounding.  You would attach said Rambo to a leash, then try to pull him down the road.  Yes, pull.  Most dogs walk, right?  They sniff, they pee, they are happy!  Rambo would just get to the middle of the road and just stop.  Not budge.  Dig his paws into the road.  Cars are coming, but hey, he was perfectly content smack dab in the line of traffic.  Then would come the pulling of the leash.  Guess what happens, then?  He pulls the other way, slips out of his collar and takes off in the opposite direction. Now he wants to run!  He loves it! And the little fat kid I was (nickname was, and still is 'Beefy, people) just couldn't keep up.  My solution?  hot dogs.  Yup.  Put one or two in your pocket and whenever he would put the breaks on - thrown a little piece of hot dog about 10 feet in front of you. He walks 10 feet.  You see the process. You see the sheer severity of the hound-dog punishment. You see why dogs were just never my thing.

Twenty years pass and then enters Lexus the devil dog.  Lexus is a nine pound Italian Greyhound. All teeth. And those things hurt.  I'll spare you why she is the way she is, but just know, she's a little neurotic (and paranoid, and possessed) in these golden years of her life.  Most are terrified of her - yet a few, as in 3, maybe, are actually quite fond of this creature.  You just have to get on her playing field.

When I got back from Africa, I was very alone.  I had loads of people around me, all concerned about my health, all practically dragging me from one doctor to the next.  Oh that one didn't know - he's a quack - on to the next one.  Doc after doc after doc.  It wasn't exactly easy for me to get out of bed, dressed, drive there, park, walk, etc.  Yet it was far tougher to face the reality of yet one more, highly-degreed, omnipotent, all-knowing, God-like creature to sigh (after many painful tests and 5 months of waiting to get back in to them) and say, 'well - everything looks great. this is something psychological going on.'  It crushed me. My sense of hope. My sense of who I was, what I knew. My sense of value, dignity...yada yada yada.  'Hey doc, come spend 5 minutes in my body and then we'll talk, okay?'

Anyway, so without the med's (I mean the md's) to turn to, I somehow, in some way, turned to the devil dog. I know. Very dramatic statement.  Her owner was gone a lot on business, and there she would sit, in a pitch black closet, day after day, waiting to be able to see light, and her food, again.  So I would drive an hour down and pick her up.  I'll never forget that first second when I would open the closet door, and her eyes would squint at the light. She would jump in my arms and fall asleep in my lap on the drive home. I would lay in my bed, and she would simply sit there right with me.  I would hurt, she would move closer. That's it.  She was just there.  Now mind you, if you went to pick her up and the voices in her head told her so, she would bite. hard.  And when a few days would pass and I would have to drop her back off and put her back in the closet, she would bite again.  even harder.  Yet we kept up this game for months.  It worked. The devil dog somehow made me feel better.

Shortly after, Lexus got a new home, and despite her regular bi-polar showing of teeth and kiss, she has a happy little life.  A few years passed, a couple more dozen doctors came, dismissed me, and went, and I started to get a hunch to get a little devil dog of my own. What?  I'm broke?  How on Earth can I afford such a thing?  What? I'm sick! How on Earth can I walk such a thing?  And the scariest part...What?  How on Earth can I commit to such a thing?  Yup. I had commitment issues even with a damn dog.  Yet months passed and the feeling got stronger, and thus I began my search. 

I knew there was one specific dog out there for me, and I knew it would be, um, 'special.'  I really liked the fact that italian greyhounds don't really shed, don't smell, don't drool, and are pretty easy going when it comes to  maintenance.  But I wanted a destitute one.  A hound, through no fault of its own, that was homeless and lonely.  and maybe a little hopeless. (familiar?) So I started with the rescues. I made some inquiries. I was led to this one house that was housing 5 of these little creatures, one autistic (yup, didn't believe it until I saw it either), one with OCD (lined up each of his bones from smallest to largest with equal distance between), one with cancer, and a few others with interesting tales.

Here is where the story starts, really. Here is where the first line of help that I had been begging the Lord for came, you could say.  Here is where I saw those huge brown eyes. On that little girl?  No - she hated me!  All  women, I soon learned.  She wanted nothing to do with me.  Yet while I was walking up to the pathway to the house, I saw these huge brown eyes stare at me through the window.  They almost bulged out of their sockets when they saw me.  There was immediate barking, jumping, pawing at the window, trying to get to me.  Okay, nice big brown dog, I thought.  Too big. What is that between it's legs?  Oh no, I want a girl.  I knock, the door opens, and before I know it, my arms of full of a massive man dog.  He jumped right up and landed on my hip, front legs wrapped around the back of the neck, like a toddler getting picked up from day-care.  "Well, look at that.  Dreamer, you didn't even let her get in the door,' said the nice dog lady.  "He's never acted like that with anyone, before." Yeah, sure - you have 6 dogs in your house lady - you'd say anything to get rid of one. 

I patted the nice dog with the stupidest name on Earth, put him down, and went to find my perfect little girl dog.  Yeah, she saw me and took off.  So I sat down, thinking she might warm up to me, and as soon as I did, big brown dog curled up in a ball on my lap.  Yep, he was home. He had decided it and I was his momma.  Except for the part where I said no, that I had really wanted a little girl, and left.  I remember coming home that night and clearly stating, 'he just isn't my dog.' 

I got a call the next day and lo and behold, wild yet very tolerant dog lady was on the line.  'Um, yeah, he cried for 3 hours after you left.  He went from window to window looking for you."  Seriously?  Talk about a guilt trip.  "That is very sweet,' I replied, 'but I'm just looking for a girl. And one much smaller."  I hung up and started to realize that maybe there was something there. No, I quickly told myself, you have this all planned out - matching girl Lexus devil dog. 

A few days passed, I couldn't get him out of my mind, a few more calls came about how other families had come to meet him and he just stayed at the window, looking for me, and I agreed to come back and meet him again.  I brought my dad this time, as he is very sensible (at times), and I would see that this dog acted like this with everyone that came over.  Same thing as last time happened - there was the window thing, there was the jumping, the kissing, the crying (all from the dog, of course) and I put him down and expected to see the same thing with my dad.  Nope.  He went up and sniffed him, let him pet his head, but that was it.  I sat down on the couch and he came and sat next to me, and leaned his head on my arm.  Like a tired little kid with his mama.  We stayed a while, fed some treats, and yet again, I left. 

A few more days passed and I got an email from a guy at the rescue.  "Dreamer has picked you! Can't you see it?  It's not often that a dog will pick their owner right away, but he has definitely decided that you are his momma.  Please reconsider."  Wait a second, I'm doing the picking here.  There is a dog out there for me and I am going to pick the perfect one!  Wait, now what?  Again I said no.  I went to stay at a friend's house. It was late that night, I checked my email and there was a email from Dreamer's owner.  She said she just had to try once more, and she attached a picture of him. My friend looked at it and said, 'you know you want him.'  I did. Oh lack of control, you are my kryptonite.

I came to get him a few days later, and I'm glad I did. He was being sent to another home, another strange place with really strange dogs and I had said yes just an hour or two before.  I drove up to the house, turned off the engine and just sat there.  What on Earth am I doing, I thought?  What if I can't handle this?  What if I have to bring him back to this place?  And even scarier in my mind, What if I love him to pieces and he is so good for me?  What if he becomes my little buddy and spends the next 10 years with me?  Can I do that?  I opened the car door and well, did.

(the day I brought him home. I was freaked out. He wasn't.)

He fell asleep on my lap on the car ride back and when we got home, he climbed up on my bed with me and just sat there. Perfectly still. Perfectly at ease. Home number 8 for Dreamer and not a care in the World. And three years later, still he quietly sits - perfectly content.  He is my little buddy, my new doc, my little furry shrink.  He has been the best thing I've done throughout all of this. A million times better than the docs. A million times better than the pills.  I wish every dog in a shelter tonight could have a chance to get in a home and show how much love these little creatures can bring.