Ma and Dixie.

It was a planned attack. A sort of coup d’état. A well thought out, planned, measured decision months in the making….and it happened like this.

So, I wanted a dog. Ma wanted a dog. I knew she wanted a dog because every time a picture or a video of a wet nosed puppy came across her tablet, she’d awwww, then show me. It could be the worst day, of the worst week, of the worst month my Ma had ever had, yet if she saw a video on Facebook of a doggy sitting in a chair, she’d melt and smile.

In reaction to this, I started saying we needed a dog. Which isn’t much change for me from the last 30 years or so, but this time I was a little more intent. I mean, even my therapist thought it was a good idea to get a dog. So, I came up with reasons, arguments, and everything I could to convince, like saying, “Even my therapist thinks it’s a good idea to get a dog.”

The main reason we never had an inside dog is due to my allergies. My response to this: “My allergies be damned!” It could be the middle of winter, and I’m in a clean room, and I’ll still sneeze or have a runny nose, so who cares? The other reason we never had an inside dog is because of my father and sister. My sister isn’t an animal person in the least. And my father just doesn’t think we need a dog. He’s against it. I had a fish for a while, which he tolerated.

Once my Ma finally relented and agreed with me, we should get a dog step one was put into action. Step one was never let the old man or my sister know what’s going on. This was actually pretty easy because those two don’t notice much or care about what’s going on. For weeks, we got pet supplies delivered to the front door, and we never had a question. There was a pet gate on the porch for the longest time that I watched my sister walk past without noticing. It was really something.

Step two of the plan was clean the living room. Which I was doing anyway, but we figured the future dog we got would like a room without a few dozen totes of books in it. So I moved out all the totes of books, and I organized, and I swept. And there was so much more room for activities.

Step three, find the perfect dog. That is hard. For weeks, Ma and I looked in Facebook groups, shelter websites, and all over the place for the nicest little rescue. We put in an application and an inquiry here and there, but nothing ever worked out. We were almost set to adopt this Shih Tzu, plans to meet, several emails exchanged, then the owner backed out. It wasn’t meant to be.

Every time we got close to getting a dog Ma’s nerves got worse. She was worried if we were doing the right thing, how the old one and my sister would react, or if the dog would like us at all. Then we got our haircut.

Ma and I get our hair cut from Erica, and Erica has this sassy, squinty-eyed French Bulldog. And as I was getting my ears lowered, Ma sat in a chair, and that sassy little Frenchie waddled over and sat her behind on Ma’s foot. I don’t know what it was about that, but it calmed the nerves.

So, step three was going bust, until Ma filled out an application for this little jack russel mix named Dixie. The Animal Welfare Friends over in Monticello over looked the fact that she accidentally called her Trixie once in the application and asked us to come meet the old girl. So, this last Sunday, Ma and I loaded up in the car. I took a pain pill because I had a migraine, and she had to recline her seat because she has a pinched nerve, but we were off.

When we got there we were put in a little room where they brought her in. This doggy went left, right, under the couch, on the couch, then licked Ma’s face as she laughed. It was meant to be. We took her home. She sat on the center console between us the whole way, resting her butt on Ma’s arm. When we got home, she jumped out of the car and walked right to the front door of the house like she’d been there before.

Inside, I ran to the bathroom, Ma took her off her leash in the house before I could put up the new gate, and Dixie went exploring. She ran all the way through the house, found my dad, jumped up on his bed, and tried to lick his face. As I was taking a pee, I heard a scream from my father and laughter from my Ma. The old man wasn’t happy (still isn’t) that we got a dog; he prefers we keep her at the opposite end of the house from him. Dixie still thinks she’ll win him over.

My sister has strangely taken her. She got Dixie a toy. Pet her, and so I’ve heard even picked her up once, granted Dixie had followed her to her room.

Dixie has settled in, so far, very nicely. Although there has been no use for the dog bed we bought because she prefers to lie with Ma, or to take my couch. She will simply burrow into or onto a blanket and remain immovable. Yeah, it was a coup d’état, months of planning, but it was worth it, even if I’m sleeping in the dog bed, and Dixie’s sleeping in mine.