Zoey

Archive for June, 2010|Monthly archive page

Stay

In Best friends, What's important, Why leave on June 28, 2010 at 3:09 am

I don’t get why I was taken from my birth mother and then my human mommy doesn’t even care enough to stay for two whole days with me. We had a grand time on the first day, playing games with balls and my rolling teddy bear (it’s a hedgehog, I later learned). I liked running after the balls and getting them in my mouth and plopping down to nibble on them.

“Zoey, bring it here,” my mommy said.

I didn’t. I was busy.

My mommy’s mommy kept saying Shelley, and I figured that was her name. I kept hearing Zoey when the mommies talked to me, so I learned my name, but that’s like easy.

Shelley played with me for one day and took off in her car for a really long time, and I didn’t know what to do. Would she come back? Where did she go? Why did she go? I don’t think, considering that I am her best friend, she should just take off, not explaining why. Why? Why?

I hopped on the arm of the chair next to the living room window and watched her red car go. I heard the sound of it hours and hours later when she came home. I ran and ran around the coffee table, yipping with excitement. She’s home! I rolled on my back, and she rubbed my belly. All’s good. And that night, I slept in her bed, like it was no big deal.

Sleeping companions

In No kennels please, Sleeping soundly, What's important on June 20, 2010 at 8:29 pm

Shelley, my mommy, brought me home and played with me for like two hours, and then she left. She had to go somewhere important, but I didn’t agree with her. I’m important, particularly as her new best friend. She should have stayed with me, so we could get to know each other.

Her mommy – her name’s Mary – put me in this box thing called a kennel after she turned out the lights. “Goodnight, Zoey,” Mary said and walked down the hall and disappeared, leaving me alone in a box in the dark. I cried and cried. And I waited. A long time later, my mommy came up to my kennel with two other women, and they all held me, and I heard how cute I was. And I liked it. The women left, and Mommy took me outside and told me to go potty. What’s that? I sniffed around the yard and came back and when I squatted, I heard, “Good girl.” Hmm …

We went inside, and I got a treat – Pupperoni, the best! Mommy took the kennel downstairs and I followed her. She picked me up and put me back in the kennel. What! Not in there. No! No! I cried and cried and cried. Mommy made a big sigh and took me out of the kennel and into her bed. I slept on the edge of the pillow next to Mommy’s face where I could see her all night. “Only tonight,” she said. I cried the next night, and Mommy took me to her bed. I’ve got it made because by the third night, we were sleeping companions.

Hello world!

In Finding a best friend, Shelley and Zoey on June 16, 2010 at 2:57 am

As a nine-week-old puppy, I got to choose where I live. I remember being in a mall pet store, shaking just slightly, especially after a shih tzu climbed all over me just to prove he was alpha dog. I figured what was the point. There was the two of us, and I was missing my mommy, so I didn’t care what he thought. I didn’t understand why I was in a cage with all these people looking at me. At that time, I didn’t have very well developed language, but I did have the sensation that something was very wrong. I kept getting held and kissed and these sounds kept coming at me, oohh, aahh, so cute.

And then they, my human mommy and her human mommy came. My new human mommy held me. I snuggled against her chest, and her heartbeat was just right, slower than mine, but true and real. I told her I loved her already. She held me up and I stared back into her brown eyes, the same color as mine. I said, you’re mine, take me home. And she did. She drove me to my house that’s at the end of a short, windy road near a horse pasture with a view of the mountains. She put me on the floor in my living room, and I sniffed around, prancing with the confidence that I knew this place: home. The wrong thing was not so anymore. I had a place to be me: an 8.6-pound miniature dachshund that is cute as a button, or cute as my pink furry bone, whatever that cliché is.