My First Dog

I really wanted this to be the story I shared, because I’ve been missing my dogs a lot
lately. As weird as this sounds, it was even harder to say goodbye to them then my parents and
brother. I think it’s because I can’t see my dogs until I return home in November, but my family
can come up from Nashville to visit me. They’re actually visiting in September, but obviously
they can’t bring the dogs too. When I spoke to my parents last night, they told me that one of my
dogs has been depressed since I’ve left for college. I’m hoping that writing about this moment
will help me feel somewhat better about missing my pets. 
For the longest time, I’d wanted a dog. My mom wasn’t too hard to convince, but my dad
was the real obstacle. Because I was only 8, I couldn’t do much to take care of it on my own, and
I think my dad knew most of the care would fall on his shoulders. A dog is also a huge
adjustment, and at the time, we had been living in a relatively small house, with a similarly sized
backyard. Our house back then was only one story, and there were no extra rooms. My dad was a
school counselor and my mom was in residency to be a doctor, so their income wasn’t exactly
six figures. My brother and I were able to have our own rooms, but there wasn’t any extra space
for a dog to be running around in. 
I had finally managed to win over my dad, so we began searching at our local PetCo,
which used to have adoption days every Saturday where they would bring out all their dogs and
cats so people could meet them. First, we fostered a brown and white terrier named Scoots. My
brother adored Scoots, which was a miracle considering he was and still is a cat person. But
Scoots not only ate a pair of my mom’s athletic shorts, but snapped at me when I tried to pet her
while she was chewing on a bone. Despite really wanting a dog, I was still a tad bit scared of
them, and this only made my fear grow. I know it was my fault, because I invaded her space
while she had a treat, but my parents decided that Scoots was not the right fit for us. Our second
try was two small puppies with the softest, silkiest fur. I loved these two- they had floppy ears
that were too big for their heads and loved running around. Dixie, the brown and black puppy,
was my favorite because she was gentler and calmer. Her brown and white spotted sister, Delta,
was definitely the alpha. Delta was energetic and a troublemaker, starting all the messes in the
house while Dixie simply followed suit. To me, they were perfect for our family. They were
small, the size of a shoebox, compared to Scoots, who was much larger. They were mischievous,
but I felt that they could be trained without any problem. Even though my dad didn’t want two
dogs, he never had the chance to make a final decision because a family in New Hampshire
quickly adopted them, taking them away from us. 
By this time, I was tired of fostering dogs. It was only our second try, but my heart had
been crushed with the leave of Dixie and Delta, and I didn’t want any other dog. But my parents
had finally accepted the fact that we needed a pet, so we went back to PetCo, albeit against my
will. I refused to look at any of the dogs, despite usually loving to hold all the puppies and open
the bigger dogs’ cages just enough so I could reach my hand through and let them lick me. I will
say, it honestly didn’t matter which dog I picked, because my dad would have the final say. I
remember my parents calling me over to them, where they were huddled on the ground over a
medium sized dog. His name was Snickers, because his brown and black fur made him look like
the candy bar. Now, I like to call him Moldy Snickers because of the white in it. His fur was
coarser than Dixie’s and Delta’s, but he had the softest ears. Snickers’ face is the perfect
representation of the phrase “puppy dog eyes”. His face is all black except for his brown ears and
brown fur that masks his eyes, almost like a raccoon. The way the brown fur grows on his face, it
looks like he has furrowed eyebrows, as if he’s always pleading at you. He is a German
Shepherd and lab mutt mix. I tried to ignore him, but he was staring at me, as if he knew I was
the only member of my family who hadn’t yet fallen in love with him. I leaned over to pet him,
and as soon as he sniffed and licked my palm, I knew he was perfect. 
We fostered him for two weeks before adopting Snickers. He did chew on shoes and
liked going through our things, in particular the laundry, but he won us over anyways. Snickers
was energetic and loving, and tried his best to be a lap dog, despite being way too big. He’s 10
years old now, and I still love him with my whole heart. He is about 90 pounds (the adoption
workers told us he’d stop growing at around 40 pounds- what a lie) and still thinks he’s small
enough to fit on our laps. However, my fear of dogs hadn’t just disappeared when we adopted
Snickers, I was still wary around him despite always wanting to cuddle with him. I remember
once telling my dad to take a picture of me petting Snickers, but I was too afraid to get close to
him. When you look at the picture, you see Snickers sitting patiently on the ground, but I’m
standing as far away from him as possible while still being able to put my hand on his head. 
It’s crazy how important to me he has become. We did eventually adopt another dog (I
managed to convince my parents that Snickers was very lonely), whom I love very much, but
Snickers will always be my favorite. He is the reason dogs are now my favorite animal, and I
miss him everyday. It hasn’t even been a full month, but it’s the longest I’ve ever been without
seeing him. I would like to say, in the beginning of my story, I said that I hoped writing about his
adoption would help me miss my dogs a little bit less. Doing this actually did the complete
opposite. Now, I’m considering driving the 5 hours back to Nashville after my last class on
Friday, just so I can spend Friday night and Saturday with them.