With all great things comes a bit of ewwy. I think that's what keeps us grounded in reality as opposed to the fantasies we all wish our lives were, at least to some extend (there's a REASON why romance sells so well, people, even in recessions.) And with those big, big puppy eyes comes little surprises from the other end.
Somewhere in this six month old puppy's life, he was abused. I'm definitely not saying it was the owners right before us -- they'd had him a short time, from my understanding. I'm just stating with absolute fact that some human out there -- beyond any inkling of a doubt -- abused this precious animal. He's horribly afraid of feet. If we move, he ducks, although NOW he ducks with his tail wagging. So someone has kicked him. And his first night home, Rick went to hand me some papers and Casanova tried to climb into my head to get away from the source, so someone has hit him with papers.
There's a special, horrific circle of hell for animal abusers.
But he's made such huge strides. Oliver, the black pug, is teaching him how to be a PUPPY and not a quivering mass of nervousness. He pounces now, jogs after Oliver, tries to wrestle away toys. Oliver, being just one year old, is still a lot of puppy himself, but instead of jealousy, he's taken his role of big brother and is taking Casanova and showing him how it's done, what it's like to live in a house where being a puppy is okay, even with occasional accidents, where you're cuddled to pieces and coo'ed at until you wish those long, long hound dogs ears had an OFF switch. It's been just four days, but to see the changes in this animal feel like so much more. And just think: Only 12 more years or so for us to drown out the violent months of his life and replace them with more love then one dog could ever hope for.
He's snuggled down on the couch next to Rick while big, fat, wet cotton snowflakes fall outside our window and it looks like a postcard as I sit here and watch.
Then I realize it is: It's a post card of my new life.
WISH YOU WERE HERE!