The Worst Mistake

February concluded with a sudden onslaught of baby-hunger.

I wanted something to squish.  (Belle can be quite anti-squishy, and tries her best to be much older than she is.)

But logic (a.k.a. Mark) said, "Hey look, we just had a major life change.  New state, new job, new tiny apartment .... we don't even have things settled yet.  Who knows if the office is steady?  If we'll have an income we can count on? If we could even fit an extra person in this living space?"

And that made sense in my head.

Just couldn't shake the feeling, however.

So my previously vague desire for a puppy began to replace baby hunger.  I knew we weren't ready to bring another human being into the world, but a dog?  Surely we could handle that.

A little dog would be perfect.  Entertain my kids.  Teach Mac responsibility. Give them something to do inside that might make them actually want to stay away from screens, instead of my having to limit their minutes every day.  And by the time we would be ready for a baby, this dog would be a well-trained member of the family.

Yes.  Yes, a dog is a perfect idea.

I don't think Mark realized how serious I was.  I don't think I did either.

I started taking the kids to the animal shelter a couple of times a week.  I told myself we were just playing with the dogs, just giving them some human interaction.

I also began checking KSL.  And texted Mark pictures of some of my favorites.  He was kinda shocked. In fact, he reacted to a dog the same way he reacted to a baby.  Come on.  Gotta meet me half way, buddy!  But no, he said he wasn't about to make any decisions for me, but in his opinion, this was a terrible idea and if I got a dog, it was mine to take care of.

That felt like a challenge.

Not too long after, we met Jaguar.

This sweet little girl was 6 tears old, half black lab, half beagle.  She was more beagle sized (perfect for an apartment) but silent (also perfect for an apartment.)  She followed me everywhere, and allowed Mac to hold her leash and Belle to pat her back.   The one time Belle pulled on her tail, she turned her head real quick and stuck her nose on Belle's hand, which startled Belle.  

Perfect.

She could handle my kids, she could handle an apartment ... I brought her home.

My kids were in heaven.  Mark was in shock.  And me?  Well I began to see that she really was a third child, and not a playmate for my kids.

Jaguar was not a fan of the crate, but Belle sure was.

Jaguar had been a lap dog in her previous home, and wanted nothing more than to doze on top of me all day.  And at night?  Jaguar attempted climbing up on our tall bed multiple times.  (Not my thing.) She tolerated my kids wonderfully, but wasn't interested in playing.  She definitely was not interested in Mark, in fact she usually growled at him.  Poor thing was probably so confused.  I felt like she knew I had taken her away from that crazy animal shelter, and worried that if she lost sight of me she might have to go back there.

I would give her time.  She'd come around.

But then ... the itching started.  She scratched and she bit herself.  She would splay her hind legs out and scooch her stomach across the carpet.  She would grunt and grumble and roll all over the ground. She seemed so uncomfortable!

By the second day, all her visible skin had raised, red bumps everywhere.

The animal shelter said if she had any health problems within ten days of adoption, to bring her back and they would treat her for free.

So we marched back to the shelter with one itchy, scratching dog.  The vet took one look at her and said, "Woah."  He immediately gave me a steroid and doggy-version of Benadryl.  He then went on to say that there would be a myriad of testing they would have to do to figure out going on, and that this could likely become an $800 per month commitment.

$800.  Per month?

I went home.  I felt stunned, defeated, and guilty.

What could I do?  I couldn't afford that, we were only just starting to pay our bills.  But I couldn't keep her here, she was miserable.  She needed help, help I couldn't supply.

I felt irresponsible and ashamed.  I had let this sweet, quiet little dog down.

The next day my parents had planned to drive up and spend the day with us, just to play with the grandkids.  I asked them if they would accompany us to the animal shelter.

 I took Jaguar back.

And left sobbing.

Dad held me close and patted my head like I was little.  And then Mac started crying too, so we became one little family of weepy people, surrounded by never-ending hugs from Nana and Bumpa.

What was I thinking? What an emotional, rash decision.  I couldn't believe I had brought on a dog without a yard to run in, or even an income steady enough to ensure I could care for it ... no matter what.

Never again.  Never AGAIN would I do that!  I don't think I'm a crazy dog person, but geez.  If I'm going to bring a dog into the family, we're keeping it.  No matter the cost.

Of course I settled down once Mark got off work and joined us, like usual.  That boy is just so steady and so logical ... it's hard to get worked up about much around him.  The kids hopped in the car with Nana and Bumpa, Mark and I followed in our car, and we traveled down to see the "big huuuuuge airplanes" at Hill Airforce Base's Museum.  I blubbered my emotions to Mark, told him he was right (again), and his nods and calm responses made me feel like everything would be okay.

But I still pray for Jaguar on occasion.

Thankfully, Nana and Bumpa's presence took away the sting for Mac, and the giant airplanes were a perfect distraction.

The next day, I decided to investigate a hunch I had been ignoring recently.  I had grown suspicious by my high-flying emotions.  I felt a little crazy ... in a way I had only felt two other times in my life.

And sure enough.

I was pregnant.