Puppy Love

It wasn’t a “spur of the moment” decision. I had been seriously and privately considering a pup since my world methodically fell apart like a backwards game of tetris this past summer. I thought how nice it would be to bring a little living piece of Georgia back with me regardless of how twisted it seemed to have puppy love replace the void that so obviously was empty. After all, I wasn’t intending to make the move back alone. But I’ve always believed that God’s plan and his timing is perfect, even in the most unthinkable situations, nothing ever surprises God.

As the move drew closer, the idea was pushed to the back burner. My mind focused on getting myself with all my stuff back to Michigan in once piece. Then naturally my focus shifted to preparing for and adjusting to the new job. That was easier said than done and I’m sure more than one of you have noticed my lack in updates since my post the night before I began on the floor. Lets just say that the 18 months of experience, confidence, and organization I brought with me from Georgia was pretty much irrelevant in translating and integrating to the methods and flow of working on the new unit. It was a very bumpy road with more than one earth-sinking pothole to navigate through. But when I blew management’s mind and passed the critical care exam all of my focus that was targeted and channeled at beginning my new job and settling after the move now had nowhere to go. So naturally it reverted back to that elephant-in-the-room size void and I knew I was sinking into a depressive funk. Part of it I blamed on the holiday season. Not only missing what should have been but also realizing what I missed last year. In a nutshell, the holidays simply compounded and magnified all the raw emotions still hanging over me. I had to do something about it.

When I first mentioned the notion of getting a dog, the horror on my mom’s face was nearly tangible. Tracy didn’t even think my folks would come around to the idea. But somewhere between my first day on the floor and the 3^rd week in where coming home in tears was a routine, mom said that if I wanted to get a dog, I could get a dog. But when I moved out again, the dog went with me. That was an easy condition to agree to.

Originally I was searching for labradoodles but the breed was harder to come by than I thought. Or they were outrageously priced. So I just planned on casually searching, checking petfinder and craigslist for the chance that I would come across a rehoming dog that was already housetrained and obedient trained. But the Sunday before Christmas I was in extremely low spirits and was really mad about it because I truly wanted to enjoy this time of the year but I couldn’t quite put my finger on what my problem was. I was just in a funk. If given the opportunity, mom would grind up a prozac and slip it in my coffee that’s how bad it was getting. So that night, in frustration of my funk, I researched puppies for adoption. Poodles kept coming up in my searches and I came across an ad for a litter of poodle puppies in Rogers City, MI. Knowing it was up near the tip of the Mitten I already determined these pups were way too far away. But for some reason, I still opened the ad and found that the pups were actually in Detroit only 30mins from me. I called the next day and found there were 2 black males available and I could come that afternoon to pick one up. I was still uncertain after hanging up with breeder if I really wanted to do this. I just feel like I’ve made so many mistakes in the last two years, I just didn’t want to make another one. Mom, as always, was encouraging saying how this isn’t a whim decision and now is a good time in my life. Dad, on the other hand, was encouraging to ask, “Do you really know what you’re getting yourself into?”

In continuing with our Christmas Eve tradition, dad and I went out to our White Castle lunch and then to PetCo where he embarrassed me by soliciting a very helpful employee to show me what puppy food is best while asking me questions about the puppy I didn’t know answers to. Armed with a leash, a collar, a bag of puppy food, and guessing at a few chew toys I hoped he would like, I thought myself to be somewhat prepared for this adventure…

With only two options, I feel like picking out the puppy was pretty easy. The first puppy out of the kennel visually struck me as a large puppy. In comparison to his siblings, he was a chunk. The second puppy she dragged out of the kennel was smaller, and more docile. He simply laid in my arms as if he could really care less who held him or where he was. The breeder further explained that the larger puppy was “territorial” but she was surprised that no one had already adopted the puppy I held. He must have been hiding from everyone waiting for me.

Contrary to choosing the puppy, picking out the name was somewhat of a challenge. My original choice did not get positive reviews. I thought “Goober” was a great name for a dog! So I went back to the drawing board earlier that morning (while I was still debating if this was a good idea or not) and started writing down potentials. I knew I wanted something “southern” and particularly wanted something “Georgia.” It’s difficult to explain or put into words but a significant part of my heart misses the South simply because a part of my life is there. Its where my first “independent” life experiences were, first job, first apartment,  not every memory of Georgia is pure heartbreak. So I started writing down names of Cities, names of streets I remember driving on, country music artists from the area…nothing was fitting. I don’t remember how I came across it but at some point, I recalled the little island I visited last November just outside of Savannah. It was perfect and unique. Tybee.

That evening I carried little Tybee into his new home. I put him down on the floor of the family room as Ryan’s girlfriend gushed over his cuteness and mom lowered herself to the floor to try and coaxed him to walk over and find his new toys waiting for him. I told her his birthday was October 21^st and she looked up and said, “The day grandpa died.” I knew when I heard the date that there was something significant but I just couldn’t remember. What were the odds? To see and keep something good that came of that sad day and to call him by a name reminiscent of a happy time in my life.

The first night, on my bedroom floor in a plastic tub with a stuffed whale and my old soccer afghan, I looked down at the sleepy little ball of black fluff and thought, “What have I gotten myself into?” He looked up at me as my next thought was, “we’ll figure it out together, won’t we?” That sinking feeling of what have I gotten myself into lingered on in the next few days. As I expressed them to mom, really, what was I thinking, that I could raise and potty train a puppy into a well-behaved, loving dog? To which she then helped me realize that I genuinely have the best intentions in raising this puppy. Even my oldest brother said, “You’ll be fine.”

So it’s been almost 2 weeks, numerous naps, one vet visit, many accidents, a bag of food, and a whole 1.6 pounds later, He’s a reason to get up in the morning and something to look forward to coming home from work. So now this will be the ongoing adventures of Tybee and Naynay.