Converted

I have always been a cat lover for as long as I can remember.  We have always had cats.  I preferred the lofty, anti-social black ones but my last one was an orange tabby named, Lance.  Lance, my husband Brian and I decided, was a "Cog." He was a cat that thought he was a dog.  He was so laid back, so friendly (or maybe lacking brain cells) that he didn't even run when a stray dog got in our yard.  Lance tried (in vain) to befriend it.  Keep in mind, this lasted all of say, 30 seconds- but the point is- he did try.  Lance lived to be twenty, and he lived through the infancy and toddlerdom of two additions to the family.  And let's just put it this way- he survived MANY pick ups by his tail with barely a flinch.  Lance was not just kid proof, he was one-of-a-kind.  The whole family held him, petted, and stroked him in the exam room when the vet suggested we put him to sleep. Lance's  kidneys had failed.  We loved him so.
   So, never having a dog before, and Lance leaving big paws to fill, were big obstacles for my family.  My husband read books, researched online and all the while I thought to myself, "How hard can this be?" What is the big deal?
    Well, after taking days off to potty train her, getting up in the middle of the night early on to take her to the bathroom, taking her to puppy school and back to training I began to not only take in the huge responsibility of a dog, but also to fall deeply.
   To walk in the door, and yell out, "Helloooo, I'm home," to a deafening silence of adolescent indifference is mighty sad.  However, to lay my things down only to be almost bowled over by a mop of curls who smells like a bag of old Fritos is a pretty darn good.
   Who else would want to ride in the front seat with me to exciting places like the post office, and then hear all about my day?