This, for one:
And this:
And the fact that she has to wear a jumper (sweater, if you're not British) when it's cold, and the fact that sometimes I find her ensconced in a pile of my t-shirts on the second shelf of my wardrobe. And that sometimes both of her ears stand on end in complete defiance of the laws of gravity.
When I first got her, I felt like one of those people that doesn't know they're pregnant, then comes home from the hospital with a baby. I was 80% excited, 20% petrified, and 100% 'holy shit WHAT HAVE I DONE/AM I DOING/WILL I DO??'
A little background: I'm technically not allowed pets in my apartment, but I petitioned my landlord back in November on the off-off-off-chance that, fairy-godmother-like, they might grant my wish and let me have a dog. My petition was a work of beautifully-crafted logical and linguistic art. It involved words like 'regarding' and 'sufficient', bolded paragraph headings with titles like 'Property concerns' and 'Responsible dog ownership,' and citations of the RSPCA breed guidelines. And this picture.
Despite this appeal of epic proportions, I didn't really expect to be allowed a dog. Imagine my surprise when, about a month after I sent my petition, I received an email that said those 11 words every girl longs to hear: 'Your landlord has given permission for you to get a dog.' I CRIED. Honest to God. I was at work and I cried and I didn't even care, that's how happy I was.
Of course, this was about a week and a half before I left for Christmas holiday in the States, so it didn't make much sense to get a dog until the new year... right? But it didn't hurt to start LOOKING for a dog right away because adult Italian Greyhounds are extremely hard to find... right? Right. Except that I happened upon the perfect little 2-year-old baby girl the next day, and she had to be re-homed that very weekend. I had seen one picture of her and was already so in love that I OBVIOUSLY HAD TO HAVE HER. So the next day I hauled my ass out to Sussex (that's right, I went OUTSIDE OF ZONE 2) and brought home little Florence.
I loved her from day 1, but that doesn't mean I wasn't scared shitless. I had gone from hopelessly dreaming of having a dog to ACTUALLY HAVING ONE in a span of less than 3 days. I was on Cloud 9, but also, there was lots of pee on Cloud 9. There was pee on the throw on my couch, pee on the hardwood floor, and pee on my duvet-- 3 different times. There was also a constant outgoing stream of money on Cloud 9; money for a crate, money for food, money for dog insurance, money for those stupidly expensive pee training pads that Florence tended to ignore in favour of my duvet.
I was suppressing a minor panic attack the whole train ride back from Sussex, and not just because I was outside Zone 2. I had expected all of this-- the pee, the money, the parent-like worry-- but suddenly I wondered if I could actually handle it. The first night I had Florence, she refused to go to bed and I spent half the night sleeping fitfully on the couch in the front room with her so she wouldn't feel abandoned. What if she did this EVERY NIGHT? What if I had to spend every night on the couch in the front room and I never got to sleep in my bed again?? What if she NEVER STOPPED PEEING on everything? What if she decided she didn't like me and NEVER WANTED TO CUDDLE??
Luckily for me, I managed to push through the panic wave that crashed over me that first week (thank you, 3 years of therapy), and THANK GOD I did because Florence is the love of my life. She (more or less) stopped peeing on everything, it took her all of 2 days to start sleeping in my bed, and God help you if you try to prevent her from cuddling with me, even when I'm eating. I'm so glad I have her, and when I think about it I really don't know how I survived so long without her-- it's like there was a Florence-shaped hole in my life and I didn't even know it. Pee and all, I can honestly say that getting her is one of the best decisions I've ever made-- right up there with moving to London.
