Our little Pixie Stick is an exception.
We knew before Cosine passed away we were going to get another dog. Wendy and I had often discussed the type of dog we would look for.
Suzanne: I want a little dog this time, small enough to bathe in the kitchen sink.
Wendy: Hrumph. That's not a dog.
Suzanne: I want a snuggly little dog who will sit in my lap.
Wendy: Hrumph. Dudley is a snuggly lap dog.
Suzanne: Ooooookay. Let me be a bit more specific. I want a snuggly little lap dog who won't crush my internal organs as she turns circles getting comfortable.
Wendy: Hrumph. You are such a wuss.
We found Pixie on the internet via a local rescue organization. A lengthy application was completed then we all trapsed out to meet her. The application included a diverse set of questions ranging from "Why do you want a dog?" to "How is heartworm transmitted?" to "How long do you expect housebreaking to take?" Wendy and I were interviewed twice by doggie rescue people and deemed to be acceptable potential pet parents. Doh. Another volunteer came out to verify our home was acceptable. It passed. Doh.
Friday evening we drove 60 miles in the pouring rain through the fabled Northern Virginia nightmare known as rush hour traffic to sign the adoption contract, write a check, and bring Pixie home.
We awoke Saturday morning.
Suzanne (both eyes closed): What time is it?
Wendy (both eyes open): 8:00.
Suzanne: Are they awake?
At the sound of our voices, Dudley began thump-thump-thumping his tail. Pixie, who somehow ended up snuggled between us, rolled over playfully.
Wendy: Ouch. Pixie just kung-fu'd me in the face.
Suzanne: You are such a wuss.
When Dudley jumps off the bed or couch, the THU-THUMP of his landing can be heard throughout the house. Pixie, on the other hand, moves like a feather and makes about as much noise. She gets so excited on her leash that her hind end catches up with her head as she dances down the sidewalk, earning her the nickname Sidewinder. She races around the backyard in circles of varying sizes, impressing us with her speed and agility. I stand there clapping and laughing, urging her to go even faster.
What kind of dog is she? Who knows. One set of paperwork says "boxer mix" and another says "min pin mix" but we don't see a resemblance to those breeds at all. She looks like a miniature greyhound and barks like a terrier.
I can go on and on about how cute she is, how graceful, how dainty, how smart, how adorable. I already have and certainly will again.
Sure wish all things in life were as simple as falling in love with a dog.