Four years ago today, we brought this little fellow home. Seven weeks old, cute as a button, and look–helping with the drive, and everything.

(That’s Mom readying her camera in the background. We couldn’t help ourselves, he was so darn photogenic.)

He came from Western Pennsylvania (Kittanning, to be exact), which is about a 6 hour drive from here, West on Rt 80 for about 5 hours, past the Highest Point East of the Mississippi, and then about an hour down Rt 28.

We drove out the night before, after I agonized and fidgeted my way through 3/4 of a day at work. I couldn’t sit and concentrate on anything. I was reduced to writing a poem about “Waiting,” instead of actually working because the anticipation was all I could think about anyway–how to pass the time until it was time. I’m not a huge poetry fan, and am usually only forced toward trying to write it when my emotions are so close to the surface, they don’t have anywhere else to go.

The morning of the 25th, we met up with another soon-to-be-puppy-mom and her daughter, at the same hotel, waiting to pick up their puppy (to be named Joe, short for Cuppa-Joe). We headed over to the breeder’s confident that we’d be in and out fairly quickly, since we’d come out two weeks earlier to pick out our chosen puppy, marked with a red marker inside his ear.

My Chappy, though, had other plans. Nobody was going to be Chappy but him! When we got there, the puppy pile woke up, cute, bright-eyed, eager . . . except for one, who had been on the bottom of the pile and wanted nothing to do with any of us. Yep. The one with the red ear. Personally, I think that Chappy told this poor dog horror stories about us, so that he’d be able to move in and convince us to take him home instead. Because, let me tell you, he worked very hard to make his case. Of the seven puppies there, the girl was spoken for, Lynne and her daughter picked their puppy out in about 35 seconds, Red Ear hid in the corner, two weren’t all that interested (polite enough, but “no, you’re not the family we want”). That left Chappy and Mr. Personality. We called him that because that puppy threw every trick in the puppy book at us–he rolled on his back, he licked our faces, he chewed on our shoelaces, he climbed on our legs. He really worked it, if you know what I mean. Chappy was just as determined, but he paced himself, took his time, knowing Mr. P. was going to wear out eventually.

All this cuteness was taking a toll on me, though–I was a wreck trying to pick THE puppy, and having two trying so hard to convince me made it really hard! I was already emotionally fraught, since this was only 3 months after losing my dear Katy and there was a part of me that wasn’t ready to let her go yet. Those adorable little brown faces, wagging tails . . . how could I possibly be expected to make a decision?? I apparently looked so upset that Mom–my mother–the one I had had to practically beg in order to get Katy in 1999–Mom actually said, “What if we took both?” (This should pretty much tell you where my stress level was. I’m usually a pretty collected person, and so whenever I do fall apart, it has a pretty strong affect on my Mommy–because, you know, I’ll always be her little girl. For her to offer to bring home two puppies? I must have looked about ready to break down altogether!)

Bringing two home really wasn’t an option. By now, we’d been there over an hour and it was pretty clear that Mom had made her choice. She claims that she kept it to herself so as not to influence me, but . . . really . . . even in my distraught state, I wasn’t blind. I could see which one she kept picking up. And, ultimately, eventually Mr. Personality wore himself out and fell asleep, and Chappy confidently moved in to close the deal.

He was so exhausted after all that intense cuteness, he slept almost the entire six-hour drive home. In my lap, needless to say.

I must say, I’ve never had a second thought.

Happy Anniversary, Chappy. Thanks for being so convincing. Not to mention persistant. And patient. And, well, you. Nobody else could have been my Chappy but . . . you!

• Tags: Chappy, Family • Permalink:L’Anniversaire //