Puppy Love

One year ago today, my mom and I picked up my new, tiny, black toy poodle puppy. She was barely a pound and sat, curled up and shaking, in my arms for the whole drive home from the breeder. I named her Charlotte Elisabeth and, two weeks later, took her from Pennsylvania back with me to my apartment in Raleigh.

Since then, Lottie and I have been through quite a year. She's been with me through three apartments, unemployment, a new job, a Christmas trip back to Pennsylvania, heartbreak, and job loss. She leapt out of my friend's arms, landed on the carpeted floor at the wrong angle, and broke her left front paw at four months old. She was in a cast for six weeks. She has met new people, new dogs, new situations. Through it all, she's slept in my bed, curled up beside me, every single night. She follows me into the bathroom. She's sleeping right next to me on the couch as I type this, nestled against my leg peacefully.

Ultimately, I've watched her grow up, from an adorably cute, mischevious, curious puppy into a bright, loyal, sweet, and affectionate (and still mischevious!) dog.

She has become my family. Because of her, I am never alone. When I cry, she jumps up into my lap and licks me. When I come home from being out, she gets so excited that she runs around at breakneck speed and jumps up on me, wanting me to pet her. It might be trite, but I love her more than I ever knew it was possible. Thank you, Mom and Dad, for giving me a family in this little dog.