I admit it, I'm that lady that talks about her dogs like her kids. For me, they are my kids. My 13yr old Dachshund "Simon", truly is my baby. And yes, I may a bit nutty when it comes to anything concerning him. But he's loved, he knows it, and I don't care.
Simon came to me about four years ago from GA. He was 9, and still puppy young. The family he was living with however, didn't think 9 was so young. He was placed in a crate, and replaced by a new puppy. Not liking his new digs, he made it vocal. And his family got rid of him, it was for them, easier then trying to make puppy and Simon get along.
Along came me. A friend of mine, and co-worker, who happens to be a Dachshund rescuer. Got an email about him from the group she rescues for, and asked to foster him. Thus started his long trip from GA to MI, and eventually to me. I came over to her house to take a picture of him for his adpotion profile. It was a picture that never got to be put to use. A few weeks after seeing him that first time, he was mine.
Now, let me back track for a second. Before Simon ever came into my life, I had a feisty 8 year old bichon frise named Precious. I got her as a puppy, and spoiled her from the start. She was my best friend and playmate as a kid, and my comfortable lap dog, and partner in crime as I got older. Before her I had had other dogs, but none seemed to have the bond with me she did. And then one day things changed. Precious started having seizures.
The vets said it wasn't anything serious, and to watch her. However, over time it changed her personality. No longer my loving lap dog, she would now growl and snap at you, when trying to do just about anything. Then at 8 yrs old she developed a rapid heart beat, and had to be put to sleep. It killed me. I didn't want another dog. Ever. The pain of losing them was just too hard, and I was far too sensitive to handle that.
So, as the months went by, I saw "free puppy" signs and the "look at his face" email in my inbox from my co-worker and friends. Every time I said no, I don't want another dog. Enter Simon. Fresh from his long trip, and still a little shaken up. He was handed to me over the fence, to take him to where he would have his "photoshoot". He was small, you could count his ribs. His spine stuck out in an almost hunch form, and he was scared of being pet. A strong clue he had most likely been hit in his old life. I wanted him.
I told my mom out of the blue, on the car ride home how I felt. Her head turned to me with a look saying I had finally lost my mind. But I knew I was ready, and he was the one. Or maybe he knew I was the one, and he was ready for me. I can't really be sure. But in rescuing that scared little wiener dog, he in turn rescued me.
And as Simon gets older, I know one day he will no longer be here. I dread that day, but also have come to accept it. It's part of life, and having pets. When that day comes, I know I will truly be a mess, and most likely the words "never again" will spill out my mouth. And in time, I know I'll love again. If for nothing else, but that little dog who saved me.
So yes, I'm the crazy dog lady that calls her dogs her "babies" more than using their name. But, I think I earned it. I'm a dog mom.