2003. I remember it well. It was a big transition year for me, one of those that bring you to the next phase of your life. I had just graduated with my Master’s and was ready to take the world by storm. The previous 10 years had prepared me to start that adult route that is supposed to bring stability for the next chapter of life. My life plan was set and I was on my way to becoming the best school counselor in the world. But being me and coming from a square peg in a round hole type perspective, I did not know at the time I would be taking a completely different road I never knew existed.When I was 18 I moved to the deep south for college. It was hard at first to leave all that I had ever known and be dropped into a completely different world. I struggled the first year, but finally caught my stride in the second year. Before I knew it the years flew by. In my search for my career job in the schools, I began to see my choices in the south were limited. My mind started to drift to home and I started to think about moving back to the northwest. My family was happy to hear that I was finally considering moving home. In an attempt to entice me that home was the best option, my father promised me he would get me a dog. Although I had always been a self proclaimed crazy cat lady, I began to have the yearning for a pup. Time had never allowed me to have one while traveling around and getting through school. Aside from having outside dogs (who I loved dearly) when I was a kid, I really had no experience as a dog owner and never truly understood about the whole man’s best friend business.I made the decision to move home and packed up my car with all my belongings (including my geriatric cat) and trekked it north across the country. That was the year. 2003. I settled in quickly and before I knew it I had a fancy new job (as a school teacher with hopes to step up to the counseling role) and a great place to live. I began to feel like I had returned home. But it soon began to feel I returned home for my family, not myself. During this time I really contemplated on getting a dog, but opted against it because my cat (aka devil kitty) had just turned 17 and was beginning to decline health wise. I owed it to her to not disrupt her last years with a puppy being raised in the house. So I took a rain check until the timing was right. Fortunately, tho, the timing never really is right when it comes to life.In December of that year my sister came to me and told me that I would be receiving the “best gift ever” for Christmas. My dad is notorious for giving people the “perfect” presents. That Christmas would prove no different. On Christmas day I was sitting on the couch mid celebration and my sister comes in with this little ball of yellow fur and handed it to me. A Labrador puppy. Now, in pretty much all case of getting a new snuggly little ball of fur dropped in your lap, it turns into instant love. But not for me. I was terrified. Many reasons were running through my mind as to why this was not a good thing. I had never had a dog, I had never raised anything from a baby, and my geriatric cat was about to pass over the rainbow bridge. I remember putting on my happy face throughout the family celebration, but then crying my eyes out at home because I had no idea what I would do.
