The allergist warned us every year, for 10 years, not to bring an animal into our home due to the medical history of our children.
The summer of our 11th year with that allergist, we rebelled. It was the 4th of July. I had just mentioned to my husband that I met a gal at work who had these super cute, friendly, forgiving, fuzzy, happy little white dogs, the Bichon Frise, and they are reportedly hypo-allergenic.
What heresy against our allergist this was to even discuss the possibility of a family dog! How delicious it was to be so rebellious! Phoned the gal, found a dog, jumped in our truck, went to the local pet store, bought everything imaginable for a new puppy, went to McDonalds, got hopped up on MSG, drove the 1 1/2 hours arriving at the other side of the County, and met our fate.
She was our girl. Oh, what a little looker! Big, round black eyes surrounded by fluffy white fur. She saw our kids and walked right up to them. It was a match! Even if we had to break out the epi-pen everyday, we were hooked!
We paid the strange lady, loaded our precious cargo back in the truck, and nervously drove home. SHHHHHH! She’s sleeping! “No music, no talking, stop singing, can’t you be quiet?” This was our oldest son, the one on the Spectrum, dictating our behavior. Precious 🙂
Arriving home, our eldest, carefully picked up the dog carrier with its furry cargo, and christened the door with her arrival to our home. It was one moment we will all cherish forever. Annie, as we call her, was acclimated to living in our home over a long, wonderful summer. My husband was off work and was able to do all the potty training, over-sight and behavior intervention with the kids. And boy, is she ever Daddy’s Girl.
Being absent during her early months heralded me the Omega to her Alpha in the home. Daddy gets sweet licks, I get the dark looks. She herds the family, pounces on me in my sleep, mimics me with her hussy walk, and from time to time even attempts to hump my leg (if she thinks I’m not paying her attention).
But really, how wonderful is it to come home, see where my oldest has dropped his backpack, skid over to the puppy pen, and in my mind, only imagine the loving reunion taking place every day. Awesome!
She is a monster. She thinks she runs our home. She loves my kids. She is Annie, Annie-Bannanie, and she completes us.
~ Wendy Frye