We had dogs when I was growing up. Muffin and Chessie (a lhasa apdo and Chesapeake Bay retriever, respectively) were with my family from the time I was a little girl. However, they weren’t mine. Muffin was a family dog, and as happens in many households, the responsibility for her care fell upon my mother. I loved her (and miss her) but she was a family pet. Chessie was primarily my dad’s dog. An outside dog, whose bark was far worse than her bite and whose main job was to be a protector. She, too, has passed on now, and I miss pulling up to my old home and seeing her running around.
As an adult, I married a cat person. This appealed to me at the time. Tazz and Jinx are so self-sufficient. They do their own thing, don’t need walks or grooming, and come around when they want a cuddle. I love them…but no matter how much we’ve called them ours, they are Marcus’ cats. He’s their favorite.
I thought about Biscuit for about 6 months before we brought her home. I knew a puppy would change everything. And I knew Marcus wasn’t so keen on the idea. The girls were still young, a puppy’s a lot of work, and the responsibility for her would ultimately fall to me. I sort of wanted it that way.
We’ve had Biscuit for almost 6 months now. A puppy certainly is a big change and lots of work. But she’s my puppy. I love her. I don’t mind taking her out. I clean poop with gusto. I like buying her toys and treats. I enjoy her company and companionship. She’s worth it.