In November of last year, Tara and I toyed with the idea of getting a dog. For me, this meant researching every possible breed of dog I might be interested in. My ideal theoretical canine companion for years had been summed up in the description "a dog who loves me and hates everyone else". Beyond that, I wanted a good looking dog, medium to large build, with short hair. I started keeping my eyes open for dobermans and boxers available on PetFinder.com. Tara, on the other hand, did what she does best, which was to look at puppies online and fall in love with each and every one.
We kept our eyes open, waiting for the day when the perfect puppy would be available. We emailed about a few, but missed out each time. Then, while in training for my new job, I happened across a listing on Petfinder. There were 7 puppies, which
they had named by the days of the week, in Youngstown, OH. Two of them had rottweiler like coloring, and the rest were different, one brindle, one looking like a collie, etc. At my first chance, I called the pound and was told that they were all from the same litter, boxer-german shephard mixes, and of the two with the rottweiler coloring, one was male and one was female. Tara had requested a female, so I asked the gentleman if he could hold the puppy for us. He said he could only hold it until 7:00pm, adding that it was a kill-shelter and that if somebody came in to adopt the puppy and he turned them away, it would be on us if something happened to the puppy due to us failing to come by. With the guilt trip hanging over my head, I assured him we would be there, and we filled out the paperwork over the phone to save time when we got there.
they had named by the days of the week, in Youngstown, OH. Two of them had rottweiler like coloring, and the rest were different, one brindle, one looking like a collie, etc. At my first chance, I called the pound and was told that they were all from the same litter, boxer-german shephard mixes, and of the two with the rottweiler coloring, one was male and one was female. Tara had requested a female, so I asked the gentleman if he could hold the puppy for us. He said he could only hold it until 7:00pm, adding that it was a kill-shelter and that if somebody came in to adopt the puppy and he turned them away, it would be on us if something happened to the puppy due to us failing to come by. With the guilt trip hanging over my head, I assured him we would be there, and we filled out the paperwork over the phone to save time when we got there.Getting there in time would be no small feat. I got off work at 5, Tara around the same time. We were living in the Highland Park neighborhood of Pittsburgh, so by the time I got home from work it would be 5:30 or 5:45. Google Maps puts the trip to the pound at one hour and 30 minutes. Add rush hour traffic into the mix and it was going to be close.
After work, Tara and I hopped in the car and booked it to Ohio. We turned into the pound's parking lot, just as the dashboard clock turned 7:01, and hopped out. The lights were out, the door was locked, and the last employee was getting into his minivan. We stopped him, telling him that we had a dog on hold, that we drove all the way from Pittsburgh, blah, blah, blah. He reluctantly let us into the building and took us into the holding area where the animals were kept, and found our beautiful little puppy. She was only five weeks old, weighed 5 pounds, and fit in my cupped hands. As we stood there, holding and fawning over the cutest little thing in the world, the man pointed out that, unfortunately, we wouldn't be able to take her since it was too late to do the paperwork. I quickly informed him that I had done it over the phone with the other gentleman. He looked at me incredulously, but went into the office to double check.
Upon finding the paper, he tried to thwart us again, pointing out that all dogs need to be fixed before they can be released, but then retracted the statement due to her extremely young age. Three weeks older and it would have been a mandatory trip to the vet, but her youth was our saving grace. We paid the $42.50 adoption fee (borrowing .50 from the pound employee) and carried out our newest family member.
We hadn't planned ahead, so we stopped at a Target on the way home. I carried her in my coat and we picked up some food, a harness, a leash, and some toys. People ooh'd and ahh'd at her, although the best reaction was from a father who replied, to his daughter's cooing about how cute our puppy was, "they get bigger."
But for now, she was still just a tiny little puppy. The first few nights, we tried to teach her to sleep in her crate, assuring each other that we 
wouldn't give in and be those people who let their dog sleep in the bed. But after hearing her whine and cry and bark, we relented and allowed a third member into our bed. She romped here and there. She was so small that she couldn't make it up the steps into the apartment on her own so we would have to pick her up and carry her. In the mornings, she would run around and "help" us get ready. When I would take my morning constitutional, "Puppy", as we referred to her, would curl up in the crotch of my pajama pants.
wouldn't give in and be those people who let their dog sleep in the bed. But after hearing her whine and cry and bark, we relented and allowed a third member into our bed. She romped here and there. She was so small that she couldn't make it up the steps into the apartment on her own so we would have to pick her up and carry her. In the mornings, she would run around and "help" us get ready. When I would take my morning constitutional, "Puppy", as we referred to her, would curl up in the crotch of my pajama pants.She was "Puppy" for quite a while. We didn't want to give her a name prematurely, only to find it unsuitable as she grew up. Before long, however, we felt that we were familiar enough with her personality to begin thinking of a proper title. Nothing seemed to fit. She was cute and feminine in her beauty, yet too stoic and proud in her stance and coloring for a name like "Tulip" or "Sunshine". And we hoped her to be large, another issue with cutesy names. Add our hope to come up with something similar enough to "Puppy" that it wouldn't be a huge jarring change from the sound that we'd [temporarily] found for her. In the end, Tara came up with it.
"What about Abby?"
"That's a good one."
"We could give her a middle name, too. Like Winters. That's got a nice ring to it, Abby Winters. Do you like that?"
"Yeah, that's nice. Sounds familiar, though. Doesn't that sound familiar?"
"Kind of, I guess."
"It does. Where do I know the name Abby Winters from??"
We kept the name, despite the fact that a quick Google search solved the mystery of where I knew the name from [nsfw].
Quickly, we started noticing Abby getting bigger. She was able to make it up the steps unaided. Not only could she keep up with us on walks, but now she was outpacing us (not to mention pulling!). Where she could once walk under our coffeetable without taking notice, she became distinctly aware of its presence after hitting her head time and time again. Her first toy was a small foam PNC-football that she could barely fit her little puppy teeth around. Eventually, though, she lost her baby teeth, and her new fangs were more than enough to tear the poor little football to shreds.
Just as our little puppy changed, our family grew as well. A new kitty, the distinguished Admiral Goonie-face of the S.S. Polyphemus, joined our clan, as did the canine expatriate, Jack (whose name was changed from Jacques as he went through the immigration station). We moved from our ritzy one-bedroom apartment in swanky Highland Park, to our monstrous house. As we worked to build it into a home, Abby and the other pets stood beside us, supporting our move and helping to make our household a warm one, full of love. Here's to it continuing for many years.Happy First Birthday, Abby!
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