Annie the Descendant
Growing up in the country, we always had a family pet. Caring for an animal wasn’t anything ‘new’ to me: from bunny rabbits to kitty-cats and white mice with red eyes, our little funny farm had it all. But one constant was a guard dog. And those well-trained pooches did a great job warding off just about anyone who pulled into the driveway. Then, Pa retired and needed a ‘foot warmer,’ so along came Abby, our brown and black miniature dachshund. For 13 years, Abby ruled the roost in my parents’ cozy little retirement house. In fact, most nights she slept at my feet (until I moved away). When Ma called me in NYC to break the news that Abby died, I cried. She sure was special, and I’d have loved the chance to say goodbye.
Two years ago, I was going through a pretty emotional rough patch. In short, I think I was depressed. I felt my life spinning out of control and wasn’t ready to look in the mirror quite yet. Instead, I found myself staring in the window of a pet store in Chelsea, making eyes with a dachshund-yorkie (“dorkie”) who stared me down. I dialed Stanley, who came down to check things out. We both knew we’d never be the same.
To the non-dog lover, this might sound totally crazy…but Annie is the baby I never had. Our connection runs deep. We work out together, eat together, sleep together and travel as one. It’s a huge lovefest every single day and I wouldn’t give her up for the world.
After all, dogs are people, too.