She opened her eyes today. It kind of blows my mind that dogs are born blind.
Adopting a baby Boston terrier has been closer to an obsession than I’d like to admit. For a long while, it simply wasn’t possible. Then, I started to accumulate the necessary props: an apartment that allows pets, an income that allows spending, a state of mind that is open and calm. I’m sure my little bundle of hell on paws will do her very best to test the integrity of all these carefully orchestrated variables.
It feels like everything came together out of nowhere, all at once. Things like this — big, exciting, happy, life-altering changes — have a way of feeling sudden. I spent so much time thinking about her, wondering about her, imagining the weight of her leash in my hand or her small form curled into the crook of my knees, that she existed firmly in the realm of fantasy. She was my waking dream.
Now, she has a face, a complex genealogy. She has a story, and I’ve just entered it. Scene: Waiting, waiting, waiting with my cellphone firmly stowed in my back pocket. Taking it to the restroom, to fill my teacup, pacing the edges of my office. When the breeder called me back and nonchalantly, routinely, casually asked if I’d like to pay with Paypal or if I might have a Wells Fargo account… there was this lurching moment where I didn’t quite understand. And then I stammered on about Paypal and how I just happened to join yesterday, and we settled on a price, and she was mine.
Everybody, this is Ace. She is less than two weeks old. She only just began to see the world around her today. She’s never met me, can’t even comprehend a world outside of her cozy nest of Boston love. And she’s my girl.
She kind of looks like a gerbil. A fetal gerbil. But she’s definitely my girl.