Birthday Pup

Ho there!  Happy Wednesday to you, but more importantly, Happy Birthday to my side kick, my best friend, my partner in crime, the love of my life, my dog. 

I'm really excited it's my birthday, guys.

You would never guess it by the way I assault Twitter, Instagram, and Facebook with daily pictures of Joey and constant declarations of my love with her, but  I didn't even want her.  (She will never believe you if you tell her that.)  But it's true.  Joey wasn't the first dog the boyfriend and I owned together.  Our second Christmas together we took our first venture into co-parenting.  We got a puppy we named Mia, and she did every puppy thing puppies are supposed to do.  She ate half of my shoes, terrorized the cat, peed on the carpet, and loved the hell out of both of us.  I was never a dog person until I met her and I fell in LOVE.  The second weekend we had her, we took her on her first camping trip that would end up costing us $7,000.  Yeah, that's not a typo.  Seven G's for a broken femur.  And like good pet owners, we shelled it out.  We loved her.  In a few short months, she was back to normal, going on runs with me, hunting lizards, and still terrorizing the cat.  And then in July, we noticed a limp.  Thinking it was related to the plate put in her leg seven months prior, we took her back to her surgeon to have it removed, and she would be good as new.  Except we were wrong.  She broke another bone, and this one would cost us another $3,000.  We just couldn't do it.  We were just getting back on our feet from the small fortune we spent on her first surgery.  And after this surgery we were going to have to shell out even more money on tests to figure out just why exactly her bones broke so easily and frequently.  We knew what had to happen.  She had to go back to her foster mom, who had the money and resources to care for her.  I was devastated.  I couldn't eat, I couldn't sleep, and I definitely couldn't stop crying.  I still miss her, to this day.  That's why you don't get a picture of her sweet little face, because I still can't look at pictures of her without crying.

Since all of this awfulness happened a few weeks before my birthday, the boyfriend suggested we think about getting another puppy.  I think this was mostly because I wouldn't come out of the black hole that was my couch and a box of wine.  Rationally, I of course told him no, and that I never wanted another dog, or cat, or even kids for that matter, because something will eventually happen to them, and then I'm back on the couch hugging the Franzia.  Logical, I tell ya.  But then, he showed me this picture:

I immediately started feeling all squishy inside, you know, the way only a puppy's face can make you feel, but reminded myself that I was now a cynical person, who hated all things cute and cuddly.  That dark phase of my life lasted the 30 minute drive it took to go pick her up.

That puppy face is enough to make anybody feel better about anything.  On the nights I still cried over Mia, Joey seemed to know to snuggle with me just a little more.  Or give me an extra lick on the face.  And she still does that for me, it's just a little harder to breath now when she lays on top of me to snuggle.  I couldn't be happier that the boyfriend decided not to listen to me when I told him I would never love another dog again.  He, on the other hand, may not be so happy about it since I'm sure he's convinced I love her more than I love him.

I'll let you form your own opinion on that.

Happy Happy Second Birthday to the only one who can steal an ice cream sandwich out of my hand and live to see another day.  You are my most favorite.

Let's party.