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I don’t want to talk about the world. The world is terrible. I want to talk about dogs.
Three weeks ago, we said goodbye to Hazel, our beloved little big-eared gremlin. Even though she had been ill for a long time, her death was a little too abrupt for our liking. (We have notes on how this could have been easier for us, if anyone’s listening.)
We adopted Hazel exactly nine years ago. Hazel came to us with what seemed like manageable problems: teeth that needed attention, a heart murmur, a luxating patella that would cause her to limp if her walk turned into a trot. Over the years the heart murmur turned into congestive heart failure and she developed a collapsed trachea, which caused her to cough if she was angry, happy, excited, fearful, or just, you know, breathing. Anyone who called our home would hear her hurrrrking in the background. Anytime one of us got on the phone, Hazel had to come see what’s what, and then hurk at us. (“Is that… is someone choking?” “Oh, no, that’s my dog, coming to say hello.”)
But I don’t mean to imply that Hazel was only composed of maladies. She was more than her cough and her limp and her one gray tooth and giant ear moles! She was soft and sweet and fierce and hilarious. She barked her ancient bark-cough at anyone, dog or human, who was not us (or
; she loved Deanna). She was an expert burrower and a world-class lap-hijacker. She just wanted to be held and loved; she didn’t care about toys or the outside. And so we held her and loved her for nine glorious years.It was Henry who found her, by the way. We were at an adoption fair in our neighborhood and Henry had gone off on his own with a friend. I actually thought he wasn’t particularly interested in looking at dogs. Then he texted us something to the effect of “I found our dog.” And he was right. He also named her.
We’ve been looking online at listings for adoptable dogs for a while now. Well before Hazel had left us. The only reason we didn’t adopt a second dog is that Hazel would have been miserable and Izzy the cat would have found a way to murder us all. But when Hazel died, I said to Scott that we should wait a while. “Until after the winter, at least,” Scott agreed. We poured all of attention onto Izzy, who was like, why is it awesome around here all of a sudden? And can this never change?
The answer was no, unfortunately for Izzy. Izzy’s life changed much sooner than we expected. Only a few days after Hazel’s death, after we spent a single, miserable Hazel-less weekend, a local pet-sitting service on Facebook posted a photo of a little chihuahua/terrier mix. “Leo was dropped off to us because his previous owner could not care for him any longer,” the post read. “He is the sweetest boy.” I immediately alerted Scott that there had been a change of plans. “I found our dog,” I told him.
A few hours later, Leo was home.
What can I say about Leo? Leo is perfect. He’s a little bigger than Hazel was, and a couple pounds underweight—but otherwise has a clean bill of health from the vet. (We still got pet insurance, because we have learned our lesson.) He is velvety soft (a requirement after the high standards for softness we held, post-Hazel). He barked at us a bit when we first met him, but that first night he burrowed under the blankets with us, only venturing out to lick our faces. We instantly fell in love. “This is only on a trial basis,” Scott and I told each other, a hilarious lie.
Like all dogs, Leo is scared senseless of Izzy, who loathes him with a white-hot passion. They (mostly) avoid each other. He’s shy with people but loves other dogs, which is new for us. When we take him out and he sees another dog, he weeps for them. “O! At last! A friend! Hello friend!” he cries out, and if the other dog walks by, he’s heartbroken. (Will we get another dog? It seems increasingly possible, yes.)
He sort of plays with toys. He’ll happily take a new toy off your hands and act like it’s everything he’s ever wanted (so polite!) but then he’ll place it in his bed until sometime later, when you point out to him that he hasn’t touched it. “Oh yes, this! My favorite!” he’ll insist, and then toss it around for .5 seconds.
He does tricks: He’ll spin, and “dance” on his hind legs. He dislikes it when I go to the bathroom—even if he accompanies me there, the experience seems to throw him. He loves long walks, and rolling in stuff.
If you follow me on Instagram, you already know how crazy we are about him. (And I apologize for going on and on when you’re like, I already KNOW this, GEEZ.) We miss Hazel, of course, and it’s still sad-making to look at pictures of her, but it’s impossible to be miserable when this joyful nugget is bouncing around the place.
That picture of Leo and Lambchop, I just had to take a minute <3
I have never met Leo and I love him!!