One Thing I Love About Vacation

There's a big difference between getting up to an alarm at 5:00am - WRRNK WRRNK WRRNK - versus waking up to Stella bouncing around on the bed and tucking her snout under my neck, pushing me out of bed at 7:30am. It's not just the hour difference, it's the way the day is greeted. With the alarm clock, the day is just - BOOM - thrust upon me. I mean, even Stella doesn't like the alarm clock. But over vacation I get to wake up to my little furry friend all happy and excited and rarin' to go.


For those of you that don't know, Stella is my rescue dog. And I gotta say, I'm not sure which one of us has done more rescuing. She makes me smile countless times a day. Whether she's body-butting dogs that are twice her size, conning them into a fake chase by pretending she's seen something worth pursuing, looking at me like I've grown a second head or any of the countless other personality quirks she exhibits, Stella never ceases to entertain. What better gift could anyone give? Anyway, last July I decided it was time to get a dog. Big life decision for me. I mean, I'd have to be responsible for a life other than my own. There were important considerations, first and foremost, could I afford the regular medications for heartworms and fleas and the vet visits and anything random that may come up in regard to health, I had an adoption fee and I had to get her spayed per the contract within a certain amount of time, food and treats and toys, etc. I also thought of all of the responsibilities that came with the need to establish a schedule for the dog. This was a hard one for me, my work schedule would sometimes necessitate longer hours. If you've ever had to train something where to pee and poop, you can understand the need for a habit building schedule. (Yes, the potty training also known as housebreaking was a big con for me.) I knew I could give a dog all the love and affection it desired, but could I actually take care of one? I weighed this commitment heavily. (Is there any wonder I have no kids?) The day arrived that I would make my trek to the animal shelter. And that's exactly what it was: shelter, no more, no less. As I approached the squat concrete building, I could hear several different dogs barking, but there were no dogs in the runs. I walked into a ten-by-twelve panelled room that served as the front office and as the exhibition area for an abandoned parrot. I told them I had come for a dog and they directed me to was through the door with the huge stop sign. Upon oepning the door my nose was met with the unmistakable odor of dog, and, of course, poop. It's not that the shelter wasn't clean because it was. It was just like the smell had seeped its way into the concrete and no amount of bleach would get it out. As I walked up and down each aisle, I had to numb myself to the anger that I felt that so many helpless creatures are abandoned. But I'm not gonna get on that tirade, cause that's not what this story is about. I searched the aisles repeatedly, trying to make myself invisible to the animals that I knew weren't the right fit for me. I wanted to take them all home. But I couldn't find one dog that I knew was just "the" one. Nope. I found two. The first, a black mini-german sheppard pit mix with who knows what else, the second, a smaller, daintier mix with the features of a coyote. (Pronounced ki-ote by the lady with the wiener dogs at the vet. As in, "My dogs don't like them ki-otes. She looks like a ki-ote.") How did I solve my dilemma? Hmm..... knowing me I'm sure you've deduced I gave them both a home. My Gerti and Stella. I got to raise Gerti for a year before she passed. I'm still not sure whether I recovered quicker than Stella. It took us both awhile. (Gerti is another story I'll have to tell one day.) Luckily for Stella, my mom and dad had a dog that we could visit and she could play with often. Stella has boundless energy but can still jump up on your lap and take a snooze. She wears a quizzical expression most of the time and holds her curled tail so high it reminds me of my great grandmother's pinky finger when she would sit drinking tea. She can be fully alert and in what seems like a second, her eyes are rolled up and she's sound asleep if you rub just that right spot on her tummy. She almost always lays at my feet while I'm at the computer. She's always happy to see me, even if I don't have a treat for her and she'll come to the only whistle that I can do. What more could anyone ask for, hmm?

Now, if humans were just as easy to get along with as our canine friends, maybe the world wouldn't be so screwed up. I mean, I can do without the smelling each others behinds thing, but a nice neck rub never hurt anybody, right?