It’s no secret to anyone who knows me or has spent even 15 seconds with me: I. Love. Dogs.
“More than people?” I’ve been asked.
I work in politics, so most especially.
My coat is covered in dog hair, as is my pillow, my food, my kids, anything that comes into my home.
I didn’t choose the dog life, the constant barrage of negativity and ugliness in politics chose the dog life for me.
I kid. Sorta.
In 8th grade my BFF and I had the brilliant idea to adopt sister dogs. We were a deliriously happy pair of weirdos whose parents made the mistake of leaving us alone with our unchecked creativity. We spent hours researching the best breeds (which at that time meant libraries and card catalogues and rides from parents), we researched what supplies we’d need and what kind of time/energy commitment our puppies would need.
Finally, we wrapped all of this knowledge up, and presented the idea to our parents. Keep in mind, this is also the pre-powerpoint era so my presentation included hand drawn posters of me and my little pumpkin. Many posters. If I wasn’t going to win my parents over with the things I was promising, dammit I was going to get them with sheer perseverance.
Not sure which it was, but I got the dog. So did my friend. We had Golden Retriever sisters and named them Lucy and Kestra. We took them hiking and joined the 4H dog club. I took care of my little Lucy just like I promised my parents I would.
My little awkward self was hooked. I’ve always had a dog since then. Indy then Oliver then Arnie.
Now I have Max and Dax; two fellas who needed good homes, and who got that and so much more.