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Jul 21, 2006
A Place Called Home
After several hours and a layover in a plane (where I commiserated my fate with a Maltese lady beside me), followed by a long car ride, I have arrived at a place called home. At 9 weeks of age and 4 pounds of weight, I am frightened. Although the humans in my new home are exceedingly kind, this is a novel experience for me. I no longer am surrounded by the comfort and constant play of my mother and littermates.
My apparent human family consists of a man, a woman, and a girl. I know that the girl loves me very much already. When she first glimpsed me at the airport, through the bars of my crate, her eyes swam with tears. She cuddled me in the car and I slept, exhausted yet uneasy. The man was with her, and we met the woman at home. They, too, stroke and pet and reassure me that all will be well and that I will be happy here, marveling at how tiny and sweet I am. I have a large home of my own, an open pen on the cool tile with toys, though I have not yet dared to touch them.
Thus far, I am scared, confused, and mute. I am so meek and docile, the girl kisses me and whispers to me that she loves me. She has noted that I am very calm and extremely aware. I notice and watch everything. I have not been much of an explorer as of yet, and I am baffled by the length of material they have affixed to the nylon at my neck. I frequently am transported to the large stretch of grass to relieve myself. I am in my crate to sleep for the night, my personal den and safe haven, and the girl is watching me from her own bed, smiling and speaking softly in assuring tones. I am grateful for this.
Yet I remain uncertain of my fate.