Magical Thyme Farm: December 2016

I wanted a dog for as long as I could remember. The last time my family had a dog, he was really my sister’s dog, Mike. We had him for 1 year and then my parents made us give him away. They said it was because the neighbors were complaining too much about him. I found out years later the real reason. My father hit my sister so hard he knocked her down. Mike jumped to her defense and on him and he had to kick him in the balls (had we really not neutered him?) to get him off him. I was very young, I forget exactly how old. 9 or 10 at most; probably younger.

In my early 30s, I decided to buy a condo. I chose a complex that allowed dogs with permission of manager, and then waited 2 years to be financially secure before asking permission. Unfortunately, the prior month the old manager retired. The new manager said no, they weren’t allowing dogs anymore because a newcomer had complained about the smelly dog next door. She told me to get a bird if I was lonely.

Reagan changed the tax laws and crashed the condo market shortly after I bought my condo, so I was now terribly under water and trapped. 17 years – and a few dozen birds -- later I was finally able to make the move out of there, and forced to leave whether I wanted to or not by a registered sex offender who had targeted me for horrific harassment, 24x7gistered sex offender and his gang of thugs who had targeted me for horrific harassment, 24x7x365. I packed up my zillion birds and bunny and pony, and moved to Maine.

I had a couple cyber-acquaintances up here who urged me to get a dog immediately, for my own protection. I was reluctant at this point, with so many critters already my responsibility. But a year later, on Thanksgiving weekend, on the news, the critter adoption segment featured puppies at a shelter an hour to my south. 26 dogs – mostly mamas and puppies, plus a few individuals – had been headed to their deaths in Arkansas. There was no room at the pound. So someone at the local shelter drove a van from Maine to Arkansas and loaded it up with all 26 dogs, who would soon be available for adoption up here.

I called. I had dreamed of getting a yellow lab female, so I asked about the labx mama. “She looks just like a fat little yellow lab,” the shelter rep said. And so I headed to the shelter hoping to adopt that mama. When I arrived on though, she was already spoken for. So instead I sat the floor in a little puppy pen, surrounded by her litter. All the puppies were jet black, including one with a corkscrew tail, except one who looked charcoal grey in the lighting. I took turns holding each puppy. One and all chewed on my sleeve, except the charcoal grey. He licked my hand. He licked my face. All he wanted to do was love, love, love. And that’s how Jakey chose me.

December 19, 2004 was also a Saturday. Jacobs, my Christmas puppy, came home with me 12 years ago to the day.