Tough Goodbye

I didn’t want to leave Zoey, the miniature dachshund I had adopted from a pet store in February 2009, for whole days at a time to go to work, though I knew my mother would be dog-sitting her. I especially did not want to leave her the first Monday morning after I brought her home, in part because I prefer weekends to Mondays, and second, I wanted to hang out with my new friend.

My mother called me at work that afternoon. She said she was downstairs ironing, and Zoey had followed her, like she had been all day because I wasn’t there. Zoey was under my bed and wouldn’t come out. “She misses you,” my mother said, explaining that Zoey was whining and whimpering.

“I miss her, too,” I said.

My mother had advised me to spend as much time with her as I could, so we could bond.

That wasn’t a problem for me. My problem was letting go. I kept thinking about her all day while I was at work. I realized what kind of mother I would be if I had a child, but I’m not married and not prepared to handle single motherhood. So Zoey, over the next few months, became my girl. I spoiled her with toys and teddy bears from the pet store, treats, things to chew and doggie clothes, which she, of course, will not wear. She slides out of them, or she’ll roll or run or whatever it takes to be free and herself again.

My sleep buddy

I went to a wedding the day I brought my new puppy Zoey home from a mall pet store. I couldn’t exactly put her on hold, nor did I want to take the chance that someone else might buy her. I loved carrying her through the mall, everyone turning their heads to see the tiny 2.8-pound dog in my arms.

When I got my 9-week puppy to the house, she explored, and then we played tug-of-war with her new rope toy and chase with her stuffed hedgehog and mini-tennis balls. I felt reluctant to leave Zoey on our first day together, but I didn’t want to cancel my plans and miss out on the fun, plus I wanted to keep my word and not cancel my “yes” RSVP.

My coworker and her sister picked me up at 4 p.m., so we could drive in one car to our friend Sarah’s wedding, where we ate, dance and partied until 1 p.m. I kept thinking about Zoey, hoping that she was doing okay, especially when she was in her kennel after my mom went to bed (I was living with her at the time after getting laid off, and though I was four months into my new job, I was worried about possible layoffs there).

I got home at 2 p.m. I showed off Zoey to my coworker and her sister, said my “thank you’s” and got ready for bed, then took Zoey out for potty time. She took 20 minutes, but I had a coat over my pj’s on that February night, so I didn’t mind waiting (I would later whenever it rained or I was really tired).

Back in the house, I kissed Zoey on the top of her head and gave her a hug. I put her to bed in her kennel, but she made this pitiful crying, whining and “I’m so abused” sound that I couldn’t take it anymore after about an hour of trying to ignore her. I turned on the light, took Zoey out of her kennel and warned her that this was the only night we would share a bed.

Zoey, however, wanted her way, and I’m a pushover. Her sad sounds got to me the next night and the third night, and that was it. She’s my sleep buddy and my best friend. She’s got me wrapped around her paw, and she knows it.

Hello world!

I wasn’t planning on getting a puppy. I wanted to some day, but that some day was far off. I was in year five of my allergy shots and found that I could be around my friends’ cats and dogs without sneezing and wiping at my runny eyes. Since my teddy bear days, I was an animal lover, resorting to befriending and dressing my bears every morning, knowing that my relationship with animals would have to be imaginary.

A couple years ago, it dawned on me that I could in fact get a cat or a dog. I bought a cat record book and a guidebook for your first cat. I figured I would get a cat, because I was single and worked full time and wouldn’t be around enough to give a dog enough attention.

In February 2009, I went to a mall pet store and saw a short-haired miniature dachshund and held him and thought, “I want this dog.” I went back three days later to hold him again, and he was gone. I cried driving back to my house, and as I lay in bed that night, I tried to figure out what was wrong with me. I knew that I longed for a pet, but I was being a bit ridiculous about it.

A week later, I was feeling dog lonely, so I want back to the pet store and saw a long-haired miniature dachshund and held her. She had a black strip down her back and black lines extending from the corner of her eyes as if she was a punk rocker. I wanted her but this time did not cry. I brought my mother back the next day for a second opinion, not wanting to make any rash decisions. My mother held Zoey, and that was it. We both fell in love. My mother suggested the name, liking it after just finishing a book with a character named Zoey. The name fits – she is so easy to fall for with her zaniness and crazy love of life.