We adopted Cheyenne when she was just two months old, so I ended up working from home for a few weeks to help her acclimate. Today’s 3F3 reminds me of the days I spent corralling a tiny animal from her crate to a pee pad, often without success. I remember…
The year is 2013. I’m 33 years old.
We searched for a while before we found Cheyenne. I remember weekends spent driving to various shelters around Austin. We didn’t really know what we were looking for, but when we met Cheyenne at the Humane Society, we knew we’d found the one.
That’s another life-altering moment, if you’re keeping tally.
She was one of five puppies surrendered to the shelter. Her black and white coat stood out from her brothers and sisters, making her look more like a Border Collie than the American Eskimo they claimed she was. (A DNA test did confirm her mom was American Eskimo and Poodle. Her dad was a tramp.)
Years before, I had thought about adopting a dog, but the thought of leaving them home for nine hours out of the day wasn’t pleasant. Dom and I had to adjust our schedules, and I even worked from home for a few weeks to help with potty and crate training.
It was a weird time, trying to work with a little puppy crying in a crate behind me. She always wanted out, and she always wanted to pee anywhere in my room except the pee pad. That got aggravating after a while… I did so much cleaning in those days.
None of that really matters anymore, of course. She’s a part of the family now. She can (and frequently does) pee wherever she wants.