Tuesday, October 4, 2011
To Tell a Story: Ron Weasley
Do you remember how I wasn't a dog lover until I found out I was? (If not, see story here)
Fast forward to June.
My daughter asked for another dog. Again. And again. And yet, again. I kept saying no. I felt too maxed, too vulnerable. I'd lost too much. We drove to the coffee shop and what was taped to the cash register? A picture of free puppies. A CUTE picture of FREE puppies. Yes, I know they're never really free but...
My daughter gave me her puppy dog eyes.
I said no. But I contemplated it. I thought how I'd never given the first dog, Tally, a chance. I didn't willingly embrace her or try to care; it just sort of happened. I thought about my sweet friend who I missed already with a dreaded hole in my heart. She loved dogs. LOVED them. She would've told me to get one.
I informed my daughter I'd go with her to look but not to expect anything.
Who was I kidding?
We drove out in the far country and up a dirt road to a sweet lady trying to save puppies. The puppies were gray, silver and brown. Except one. He was red.
My daughter picked him up and cradled him in her arms the way I cradle every baby I'm allowed to hold. She kissed him and petted him. She handed him to me.
He looked up in my face. He didn't cry or wriggle. He just sank against my chest like he belonged there. I didn't want to love him. I didn't want to need him.
But I did. Tears sprang to my eyes.
"I'm naming him Ron Weasley," my daughter said with a twinkle in her eye. She knew I'd like that.
She was right.
He's five months old. And I love him.
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