Bailey is 8-and-a-half now, and I've had her since she was a wee pup. I remember fondly those first days when her ears were bigger than her head and her paws were that size of saucers. She was awkward and clumsy and amazingly cute. And sweet. She and I formed an inseparable bond very early on. My then-husband and I got her about eight months after we got married (she was just 8-weeks-old!), but I was the one who trained her and worked her and loved her. Because I wasn't ready for kids, she was my baby. I took her everywhere with me and even bent a few noses when I brought her (with my parents' permission, of course) to the family Christmas. I know now that our inseparable relationship early on wasn't the best idea for her development (she has a pretty bad case of separation anxiety that, thankfully, seems to be easing in her old age), but I just loved everything about her. Her sweet eyes, her velvety coat, her big floppy ears ... she was just precious. She loves people and kids and car rides and traveling and running and tugging and all those other crazy puppy-type activities. Despite being an old girl, she is still very much a puppy (and her small size -- she was the runt, after all -- doesn't do much to dissuade that perception).
In many ways, Bailey is my best friend. After the divorce, she was my constant and consoling companion. She packed up and moved 700 miles away from home with me and is always ecstatic when I come home no matter how long I've been gone. She listens to me rant and rave about my daily life, and she is always happy no matter what turmoil I am facing. She is my girl, and it scares me that her breed only is expected to live 10-12 years because that means I only have a few years left with her. But that just makes me love her all the more while I have her.
|Isn't this just the sweetest face?|