Sunday Dec. 8 was Mr. Big's homecoming anniversary. Twelve years ago, Pupgirl and I went up to the Big Metropolis to see a 2-year-old boy our local club's rescue had just taken in, to see if he would suit us. His father and mother were also there to be rehomed, and while mother was inside, father was in the back with us. He was completely disinterested in Pupgirl; I was worried the son would be the same.
He was over at another house, getting a quick bath after a speedy neutering surgery. Suddenly, a big, beautiful boy appeared in the backyard. Pupgirl ran over and jumped on him. I gasped. He instantly started playing and jumping and running around and they fell in love with each other at first sight.
I strapped him into the back of my Civic (and he sprawled over the whole back seat, so Pupgirl had to be strapped into the front seat) and away we went. She kept turning around to see if he was still there and really, really coming home with us. I know MoM thought I was out of my ever-lovin' mind getting a second big dog.
It's been twelve years of joy ever since. Guess who was right?
He celebrated with a special dinner of scrambled eggs and dehydrated chicken and a visit from his acupuncture vet. Hey, small, quiet parties are the thing when you're the equivalent of an 88-year-old human.