Signs
I've always been a believer in signs. Little things that point life in one direction or another. Serendipitous moments that turn out to be turning points or beacons. The cosmic forces of the universe whispering, or sometimes screaming, at me to make choices. So would there be signs for me finding a new best friend? Well, let's take a look at the goals.
The Mission: Find a new best friend.
The Parameters: Small dog. Long projected lifespan. No yappers. Young. [God love the people who can adopt senior dogs. But I just went through that. I'm not ready for it again for a long time.]
The Timeframe: Sooner, not later.
The Geography: Close to home, of course - but I'm not ruling anything out.
Truman came to us via a fabulous rescue called Canine Castaways here in SWFL so I started with them. They had a litter of sweet Chihuahua puppies, but the one I had my eye on got snatched up before I could see her. She really looked like Ruby in miniature but with shaggy hair and I thought that was a sign. But it wasn't meant to be. One of the others was named Melody and I have a sister-in-law named Melanie. So maybe that's a sign? No. That's me trying to make something a sign.
I found very few available puppies and started to feel selfish when there are so many dogs that need homes. When I'd look at a dog that was 7 or 8 years old, my heart would hurt 1) because someone gave up this dog when it got old and 2) I just can't be the one to take care of another dog at the end of it's life. I've basically been a hospice nurse for the last quarter of 2017.
I found a little guy named Paxton on PetFinder. He was part of a litter of 4 or 5 from a mama who was mostly Maltese and a daddy who was mostly Jack Russell terrier. I think that makes him a Malted Russell.
Turns out he was being fostered through the same county shelter system that originally had Truman so ... that's a sign. I spoke with an adoption specialist named Alex who gave me his background and almost immediately cleared me to adopt, based on my application and history of adoption.
Paxton was born in foster care after mom and dad were impounded for neglect. So for me that meant no bad juju or habits or memories. All good things. I asked for more pictures because the one on PetFinder almost didn't even look like a dog. It was blurry and gave me no frame of reference for Paxton's size (See photo) .
The new picture, via text from Alex, was not much better quality. But at least gave me enough of a view that I felt pretty sure I needed to meet this little man. He looked like he was talking to me through the picture. Still no frame of reference on size though. I was picturing him at maybe knee high based on this photo from him at 9 weeks.
Not even close.
Due to the distance from home all the way to Sebring, Florida and our work schedules, we couldn't go see him for full week after that first phone call. I secured him with a refundable deposit and his picture was removed from PetFinder. So basically he was mine, but I had to wait to meet him. I was afraid he wouldn't click, fit, or like me. That there wouldn't be any signs that he belonged with our family.
We got to the shelter at 10am on Saturday, right when they opened. Me, Kevin, and Truman. Paxton's foster mom was there waiting for me and went to get him.
His size was surprising. I mean I wanted a little dog. But he's like the size of my FOOT! He came right to me, seemingly unaware of the chaos of the shelter. People, dogs, smells, sounds. This little fluffball just raced around the shelter, grabbing random toys and stopping to talk to nearly anyone who slowed down. Kevin and Truman came in and all seemed well. People had to walk over Truman because he assumed his usual position, sprawled on his belly right in the middle of the floor.
The Mission: Find a new best friend.
The Parameters: Small dog. Long projected lifespan. No yappers. Young. [God love the people who can adopt senior dogs. But I just went through that. I'm not ready for it again for a long time.]
The Timeframe: Sooner, not later.
The Geography: Close to home, of course - but I'm not ruling anything out.
Truman came to us via a fabulous rescue called Canine Castaways here in SWFL so I started with them. They had a litter of sweet Chihuahua puppies, but the one I had my eye on got snatched up before I could see her. She really looked like Ruby in miniature but with shaggy hair and I thought that was a sign. But it wasn't meant to be. One of the others was named Melody and I have a sister-in-law named Melanie. So maybe that's a sign? No. That's me trying to make something a sign.
I found very few available puppies and started to feel selfish when there are so many dogs that need homes. When I'd look at a dog that was 7 or 8 years old, my heart would hurt 1) because someone gave up this dog when it got old and 2) I just can't be the one to take care of another dog at the end of it's life. I've basically been a hospice nurse for the last quarter of 2017.
I found a little guy named Paxton on PetFinder. He was part of a litter of 4 or 5 from a mama who was mostly Maltese and a daddy who was mostly Jack Russell terrier. I think that makes him a Malted Russell.
Turns out he was being fostered through the same county shelter system that originally had Truman so ... that's a sign. I spoke with an adoption specialist named Alex who gave me his background and almost immediately cleared me to adopt, based on my application and history of adoption.Paxton was born in foster care after mom and dad were impounded for neglect. So for me that meant no bad juju or habits or memories. All good things. I asked for more pictures because the one on PetFinder almost didn't even look like a dog. It was blurry and gave me no frame of reference for Paxton's size (See photo) .
The new picture, via text from Alex, was not much better quality. But at least gave me enough of a view that I felt pretty sure I needed to meet this little man. He looked like he was talking to me through the picture. Still no frame of reference on size though. I was picturing him at maybe knee high based on this photo from him at 9 weeks.
Not even close.
Due to the distance from home all the way to Sebring, Florida and our work schedules, we couldn't go see him for full week after that first phone call. I secured him with a refundable deposit and his picture was removed from PetFinder. So basically he was mine, but I had to wait to meet him. I was afraid he wouldn't click, fit, or like me. That there wouldn't be any signs that he belonged with our family.
We got to the shelter at 10am on Saturday, right when they opened. Me, Kevin, and Truman. Paxton's foster mom was there waiting for me and went to get him.
His size was surprising. I mean I wanted a little dog. But he's like the size of my FOOT! He came right to me, seemingly unaware of the chaos of the shelter. People, dogs, smells, sounds. This little fluffball just raced around the shelter, grabbing random toys and stopping to talk to nearly anyone who slowed down. Kevin and Truman came in and all seemed well. People had to walk over Truman because he assumed his usual position, sprawled on his belly right in the middle of the floor. While I got to know Paxton, I was chatting with the foster mom. I told her about Ruby, without mentioning her name. Just that she was a Great Dane. And the foster mom tells me about this puppy that came to the shelter months ago. Brown with a black face and quite small. They thought she'd be small anyway. So this dog loving foster mom took her home and she just kept growing.
"She's 9 months old and 90 pounds. I can't give her up now, she's just my big baby. I named her Ruby."
That's what I call a sign.
In about 30 minutes, I completed the paperwork, paid the adoption fee, and waited for 'Paxton' to be microchipped. As we talked about his shots to date, I asked, in passing, when he was actually born.
"She's 9 months old and 90 pounds. I can't give her up now, she's just my big baby. I named her Ruby."
That's what I call a sign.
October 22. Jamie (our youngest kiddo) was born on October 22. That was enough for me.
SIGNS.
Before long we were headed home - an hour and a half drive. We needed a new name. Something that meant something to us. Truman was originally derived from Truman Ave in Key West, one of our favorite spots on earth. So I went through the map and read off the street names, while 'Paxton' perched on my shoulder like a pet bird. After much discussion, it was decided.
Simonton Ernest Hemingway Duval Wisniewski.
Or Simon. His name is Simon.
Welcome home, little guy.
And thanks for all the signs, Universe.
SIGNS.
Before long we were headed home - an hour and a half drive. We needed a new name. Something that meant something to us. Truman was originally derived from Truman Ave in Key West, one of our favorite spots on earth. So I went through the map and read off the street names, while 'Paxton' perched on my shoulder like a pet bird. After much discussion, it was decided.
Simonton Ernest Hemingway Duval Wisniewski.
Or Simon. His name is Simon.
Welcome home, little guy.
And thanks for all the signs, Universe.
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