This is part one of a six part series called Our Story.
Part One: A Princess Is Born
I had always had pets growing up, and I always loved them. But it wasn’t until I was a teenager that I really appreciated what having a dog was really about; the immeasurable joy, and sometimes pain, that every dog owner goes through. I’m happy when she’s happy and I’m sad when she’s hurting, even if she just gets a little splinter.
I want to tell Michga’s story, our story. I’m going to do this in a series of posts, a post a day for the next six days. Starting today! I regret few things more at this moment than the fact that I lost my old camera, and all the pictures of puppy Michga with it. Here, have this grown one as a substitute.
Our story starts once upon a time, when I was 15. Our dog (my dad’s dog, really), Sophie, was pregnant. My dad’s girlfriend’s dog was left alone with her for too long.
I wanted desperately to be there for the birth, so it figures that when my future princess was born I wouldn’t be home.
I got the phone call from my dad that Sophie was in labor while I was at the mall with my friend. Thankfully she understood my need to be there and her mom drove us home. I ran inside the house, but I had already missed the first birth.
I didn’t realize it at the time, but this was to be Michga. This squiggling, 10 minute old, less than half a pound bundle of puppy was going to be my dog, the first dog that I could really call my own.
She was the first born out of three, and also the runt. I’m a sucker for the underdog – who can resist the smallest of the litter? Maybe I felt she needed me the most, but at any rate, her paw prints were already all over my heart from the moment I saw her tiny little slimy self.
I actually thought she was a boy at first, such was my inexperience. Turns out that was just the umbilical cord.