I have always been a cat person. From our first family pet, Nescafé, when I was little, to Angel, the one we conned my mother into adopting when I was eight, to the twins, Pansy and Pearl (my adulthood apartment companions), felines have always been my preferred pet species. I love their cute noses, their expressive ears and wiry whiskers. I love their satiny fur, their purring, their cat food breath and even their notorious aloof demeanor.
So, a couple of years ago, when my husband and son started talking about getting a dog, I was not amused. I do like dogs and had become quite fond of my friend Mia's standard poodles, but had never considered having one of my own. The mere thought felt traitorous. Et tu, Lorri?
Change of heart
About two years ago my husband, son and I were hanging out at a park when a woman arrived with her miniature schnauzer, Daisy, and six scrumptious puppies. The pups were frolicking like lambs, tiny ears flopping, and cutely jumping on each other, as they followed their mom along. Instantly every child in the park headed straight for them. Each puppy was held and cuddled. I picked one up and felt all stress leave my body as it nuzzled my neck. We chatted with the woman during this love-fest, and she told us that all of these puppies were reserved for adoption, but in one year she would allow Daisy to have another litter.
Well, to make a short story sad, when the time came to contact her, my husband could not find her number. I was disappointed with him for thwarting our now keen quest for a canine companion. My son and I began hounding him with dogged determination.
About a year later we noticed an ad in the classifieds -- "Playful miniature schnauzer puppies for sale." We drove over to have a look and came home with nine-week-old Beauty. She was off the cuteness chart and clever. Within a week she was responding to her name and would sit, demurely, when asked.
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