Catch and I moved in together after we’d been dating for about 9 months. It was Easter weekend—in April that year. And in case moving in together wasn’t a big enough step, the very next thing we did was get a puppy. As you do.
We tried adopting from a number of rescue groups in the LA area, but they ALL turned us away. We weren’t married. We worked too much. (Um—Catch is a teacher? She has SO MANY days off.) At one point, we totally fell in love with a puppy. She was about six months old. After we submitted our application, they told us we could come get her in a week. When we showed up to pick her up–brand new leash and collar in hand–we were told that there was a family looking at her right now and that they had to do what they felt was best for the dog. We left empty-handed.
As much as we wanted to rescue a dog, we were frustrated beyond belief. We turned to the classified ads and found an ad for basset hound puppies. I still have one of the photos from the ad.
After a phone call, it was decided that Catch would drive out to the middle of nowhere after work on the Friday before Memorial Day to retrieve our new puppy. I was stuck at work dealing with an obligation to a client.
I ended up getting horribly sick at my client’s office that afternoon (nothing like puking in your client’s bathroom)—and then I had to sit in well over an hour of horrid holiday traffic to get home. I went straight to bed when I got home.
You know what cures a stomach bug?
When Catch walked through the door with our puppy tucked under her arm, I almost cried. She was SO SQUISHY. She was SO LITTLE. She was so OURS.
We named her Twix because she was chocolate, caramel and cookie colored.
That night, we set her little puppy bed beside my side of the bed, laid her down and turned out the light. She cried and cried. I vividly remember scooping her up and telling Catch, “She needs her mommy.”
That was ten years ago, and when the lights go out, you are still guaranteed to find that dog in bed with me—probably between my legs with her head resting on the back of one of my thighs.
Twix was my first baby. I love this dog so much that we once came home early from a vacation just because I missed her. She is my best friend. My Twixie Dog.
So you can imagine how I felt when our veterinarian called yesterday afternoon to tell us that Twix very likely has cancer. You can imagine how my heart broke. You can imagine the tears.
We don’t know much about any of it for now, and we likely won’t until they do repeat tests in three months. For now, we just sit with this knowledge and hope for the best while we make the most of our time with her.
I knew this would happen eventually. I’m not 25 anymore, and she’s no puppy. I’ve avoided facing her age because our house isn’t going to feel like home without our Twix. Between our problems with Rolo and now this, it feels like everything is caving in on me at once. I’m not ready for this–but then, I don’t think I could ever be ready.