Sad

I am trying to remember the anger, but it escapes me. I reach for the positives of the decision, but they seem so insignificant.

Seven years ago, my fifth child entered 1st grade. I'd had kids underfoot for 18 straight years and I found myself feeling a bit lonely. No more babies to cuddle, no company for hours every day, 5 days a week. I began wanting a puppy. I wanted a lap dog, one that would follow me around as I went about my day. If I sat down at a task, I wanted him underfoot-just like one of the kids. I browsed the pet shops, talked to other people, researched. Then I found him.

He was a pathetic looking puppy in a pet store. I hated the thought of spending the money, and even worse buying from a pet shop that perpetuated puppy mills. But this baby, errr...puppy, needed a home. I visited him on several occasions and every chance I got would tell my husband of this longing. It all looked very unlikely, that is, until Mother's Day.

Michael came to me and asked me what I wanted. I told him all I wanted was that puppy at the pet store. He argued with me all of the reasons we should NOT get a dog and asked me again what I would like for Mother's Day. That puppy. Guess what I got for Mother's Day? That puppy.

I named him Dakota, because Dakota means "friend." He was my buddy, my pal, my constant companion. Unfortunately, he did not remain the little lap dog he was supposed to be. Instead of the 9-12 lbs typical for a Bichon Frise, he grew to 23 lbs. He still thought he was a lap dog and I had to quit bathing him in the sink, but he remained my little buddy during the day and friend to everyone.



Dakota learned tricks fast. The favorite was dancing or at the command "bang" he'd play dead. He'd fetch a ball and actually bring it back to you. The funniest game was hide and seek. You had to be quick to play. You'd throw his ball down the stairs and run like the dickens. He'd race down, grab his ball, then be back up the stairs in seconds. He then proceeded to find whoever threw the ball. Of course no matter where you hid, he'd always find you then be ready to play again.



Dakota left us today. No, he didn't die. After 7 years we made the decision to give him up. Like I said, the positives of this decision escape me now. I found myself praying that his new home would love him even more than we did. (Is that possible?) Hoping beyond all hope that someone would be more patient with him, spend more time with him, let him be their constant companion (and maybe even let him sleep on the bed.) Of course the nagging thoughts are, what if they don't? What if he doesn't go to a better home?

I can only imagine how difficult it is when some gives up a child for adoption. The anguish and guilt must be overwhelming. Maybe, just maybe, Dakota will be the sparkle in someone else's eyes, the joy that only and adoptive parent would know.