There were plenty of reasons not to do it and I had always talked myself out of it, convinced there would be a better time for it. Yet on March 3, 2011, I found myself at a pet rescue, walking in the door still not entirely convinced getting a dog was a good idea.
I’m just going to look, I told myself. See what they have. Maybe they wouldn’t even have any.
I’d had dogs before, but my favorite had been a little apple-headed tawny Chihuahua named Pandora.
Pandora was simpatico, and I told her my darkest, deepest secrets. Not that the pre-teen me, or even the post-teen me, had many secrets to tell. But she was a good listener.
I knew that if I ever got a dog, it would be another Chihuahua, but the adult me had drifted to cats. Given my crazy schedule as a newspaper reporter, they were more agreeable to my long and sometimes odd hours.
But I never gave up the Chihuahua dream. I just had to wait until the perfect time, until I finally realized it would never be the perfect time. There would always be reasons to say no. I just needed one reason to say yes, and I found it in a room of 14 yapping Chihuahuas.
Now that I’d actually made it through the door, I told myself not to rush. I’d just ask to see any Chihuahuas they had and see if one caught my eye. And boy, did one ever.
He was a short and a bit chunky Chi, and in a sea of Chihuahuas he stood out. He was almost solid black with a white blaze on his chest, and when I met his eyes, I knew there was no way I was leaving without him.
I paid the adoption fee, bought him a purple collar and leash, and got a new, sturdy carrier. They said his name was Kennedy, but I already had chosen a different name for him. He was Bailey.
When I got home with Bailey, I discovered he’d thrown up in his new bed, and five minutes after walking in the door, he hiked his leg and christened the kitchen cabinet. But it got better from there.
I learned he didn’t like traveling in cars, and he didn’t like traveling in cars inside his carrier. The only long distance trip I made with him, to visit family in Phoenix, we had to stop at every rest area so he could stretch his legs and let go of his panic.
Bailey loved squeaky toys, hated cats and didn’t like walking in the rain. He saw me through some hard times, including the deaths of my mother and a sister. He comforted me. He made me laugh. He hogged the bed, and sometimes made me get up at 2 a.m. to take him outside.
He was with me, always, until Dec. 3, when at the age of 17, he crossed the Rainbow Bridge, to run with other Chihuahuas and keep all the pets in line.
He was a tiny little guy, but he leaves a giant hole in my heart. He was the best dog ever, and I miss him beyond words.
The Animal Life column runs on Mondays. Contact Joan Morris at AskJoanMorris@gmail.com.