At the age of 30 I decided I was finally ready to get my very own dog. I spent hours scouring rescue sites, and decided I would adopt a medium sized dog (to me that was about 50 pounds) about 3 or 4 years old. At my first rescue event I stood around somewhat aimlessly, not seeing what I thought I wanted. A young girl approached me holding a doe-eyed bundle of baby black and tan. Smiling broadly, she asked me if I'd like to "hold the puppy" and I couldn't say no. I sat down,cuddled the pup to my chest, and she gazed up at me quietly for a few moments before deciding to fall fast asleep. Her eyes brought my childhood dog to mind instantly and her immediate trust touched my heart. She was already mine. That simple.
She was a 10 week old supposed "rottie and something smaller" mix that had been brought to New England from a kill shelter in N. Carolina. They guessed she'd end up weighing about 50 pounds - so at least I was going to get that goal achieved, so I thought. The rescue groups' adoption process was pretty arduous, so once approved I had to show up at their next rescue event and claim her before anyone else could. Needless to say, I was waiting at the door 15 minutes before they opened. The little girl who'd been fostering her ran right over and said she'd hoped I would be the one to adopt her.
I named her Qismah, Arabic for fate, and she is almost 10 years old now. The rottie mix ended up being almost pure doberman and weighs not 50, but 85 pounds. She took a lot of work early on, and has always been a high maintenance dog, but I have learned to love even those qualities. She is my constant companion, has lived in 3 states with me, helped me through graduate school, deaths, a separation and all of life's challenges. She's often my mirror, for better and/or worse. She's still my doe-eyed little girl.
Burlington, VT