Coming Home

I have never really been what one would call a "dog" person. Sure, we had a dog growing up as kid (and I loved princess!) but she was really my sister's dog, and mom was the one she was really bonded too. But I never really could see the level of involvement that others put into the relationships with their dogs.

When I first met Beth in 2008, Ophelia was 1. Our first meeting didn't really go that well. She was very protective of her mom, and didn't like this new stranger who was coming around. When Beth and Ophelia moved west in 2009, I got my first taste of what it was like planning your lives when you have dogs as a part of it. We booked hotels that were dog friendly, we planned stops along the way so that she could have water and potty breaks, and made sure that we had something she could drink out of and was comfortable on the ride (Amarillio TX, to San Jose, CA . . . the whole way with the window down . . .)

When we got home, Ophelia came in and sniffed around, walked over to the bed, jumped up and promptly fell asleep. Looking at her as a little black ball on the bed and seeing how content she was, I knew at that point that I was a going to be a "dog" person, and I knew that Ophelia was home . . .