10 January, 2013

dear dog

I have watched my (crazy) dog-lady friends for some time with disbelief. All the time wondering how they could get hooked into arranging their lives around their ideas about a creature that is essentially an endless drain on their resources. One of them is obsessed with canine toothbrushing. Another, with an aging dog has thrown herself into learning how to interact with her increasingly deaf companion. And another is occupied with her schedule d visits to the dogpark and the politics involved in increasing the number and the park police prescence in her most frequented location. I had tried fostering for a rescue organization quickly realizing that while my aging cat was in my home that arangement would be stressful for all of us. When she dissapeared last summer, the posibility of adopting a dog opened before me.  Just as my work as a guardian ad litem opened me to the idea of adopting a child, the idea of training a therapy dog appeared to be a more managable step on that path. And infinitely more forgiving. We always had dogs when I was growing up and I felt like I needed a change from the feline approach to life. I knew I wanted a smaller dog, around 10 pounds of less, as I did not want someone heavier jerking my arms at the end of a leash. The papillon breed appealed to me and the search began... 

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