Monday, December 22, 2014


Two years ago I found myself FRANTICALLY racing around town to wrap up some last minute holiday errands.  I had a BRILLIANT idea to buy baby boy a hamster for x-mas; working off of my own personal childhood memories of owning a fluffy little rodent I could call my very own.  I'm a mom who CLEARLY thinks ahead; I purchased the rodent, and all related equipment, food and toys a week before the holiday.  The cage was stashed in the roommate's bedroom (hidden, with his permission), and my game-plan included playing with the hamster every single night leading up to Christmas morning to ensure he was accustomed to people.

Much to my dismay, my brilliant plan COMPLETELY BACKFIRED IN MAH FACE.  The little fucker was vicious.  It kept biting me, and on one occasion I flung the tiny beast monster across the room because the chunk of hand it had tried taking out of my hand caught me off guard.  My initial reaction was to put on heavy duty leather working gloves; because that was going to solve ALL of my problems.

All the gloves did was allow the beast monster to visibly bite at my hand without me throwing it across the room.  I was pissed and felt super duped that the pet store had sold me a carnivorous hamster; it must have had some rodent form of rabies, or had been in a line of an inbred trafficked hamster whore house, because the hamsters when I was a little girl were cute and cuddly.

It was obvious what I had to do.....return the little fucker four days before Christmas and try to exchange it for a larger, more "docile" breed.

I confidently marched into the pet store, returned the beast monster and left with an even larger beast monster, and felt like I had done my due diligence as Mom of the Year....until I got home and realized I had neglected to take the small beast-monster supplies with me when I exchanged the carnivore for one that was three times its size.

The next morning, bright and early, I snuck away to complete my holiday preparation by getting the RIGHT sized house, etc.

When I walked into the pet store, a bit annoyed but pleased that I was going to surprise baby boy with the gift of life (haha, yeah), I saw an "Adoption Day" sign.  I'm a glutton for punishment, so I HAD to check out the pet offerings and see what kind of cuteness was available.  I turn the corner holding all of my NEW beast supplies, and was greeted by the sweetest, fluffiest little puppy.  

I'm not necessarily one to believe in love at first site (at least as far as humans were concerned) but slap me sideways and call me Harry -- we fell in love the second we met each other.  His story was tragic; he was found with a litter of three on a reservation in Minnesota where they estimated he and his two sisters were approximately 10-weeks old.  He'd been transferred to his current rescue agency, and had been with a foster family for approximately three weeks.

Long story short - by the end of the day I left the pet store without the new hamster supplies, with a puppy instead, and a crystal clear conscious at the decision to abandon ship on giving baby boy a hamster (read: beast monster) for Christmas.

I tip-toed through the conundrum of how to explain to baby boy the fact that I left in the morning only to return with a puppy.  In the interest of the season, I lied.  I told him a co-worker had an emergency and asked me to watch their dog for a couple of days.  My lie ballooned when I told him the puppy hadn't been named; and that we should help my coworker out and pick out a name for the dog.  

Christmas eve, baby boy was greeted with the final present of the evening; a card that told him the truth - the dog was ours - accompanied by a large gift bag that had a dog bed puppy shampoo, a leash and a few dog toys.  
Adopting a rescue dog was foreign to me.  Not only did the adoption agency grill me for a couple of hours, I'm surprised they didn't require finger prints and blood.  I don't blame them for their paranoia; most of their animals had a tough past, and their hearts are invested in the mission of finding these little furry beings with "forever-homes."  

I grew up with dogs, but never in my life have I had a dog affect me in such a powerful way.  Sometimes I feel as though he wants to start blurting out full sentences; there's so much to be said in his hilarious "woofs," and oddball mannerisms.  He's something else....and on top of everything, has an affinity for shoe laces, underwear, and tank-top straps.  If he wasn't so damn cute he'd be back on the streets.  Fer Realz.

Swallowing my sarcasm for a minute; he's the best thing that has happened to me and to baby boy.  He's a puppy brother, snuggling, amazing little fluff ball.  I love him.  He loves us.  I'm forever converted to rescuing animals; it's a spontaneous choice that has forever changed my life.

sidebar:  For as much as I will stand behind rescuing dogs/cats, there is a special place in hell for carnivorous hamsters; #truth.

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