Sharon: Joy Returns with Biscuit as Shicker's Helped

Sharon writes:

 One Saturday night, about 5 years ago, my husband of almost 30 years announced that he wasn’t happy, no longer wanted to be married, and walked out.  The world as I knew it shattered.  Our youngest child had graduated from college and left for the Peace Corps the year before, and I was alone for the first time.   Well, almost alone.  My Peace Corps son had left his 14 year old deaf Cocker/Schnauzer mix in our care, and Snickers was waiting for Rob’s return.   But she was giving me indications that the Rainbow Bridge might be in sight.

Those days were pretty dark, and joy was elusive.   A friend of mine stopped in one day and strongly advised me to get a big, intimidating dog – one that could not only hear if someone was coming in through one of the 5 glass doors on the 3 levels of the house – but one that might make someone think twice about staying inside too long.    

I remembered an earlier visit to my friend Carol’s house, and the big black and tan dog that stood as close as he could to me when I sat on the couch, and just stared at me.   I remembered her story that no UPS delivery man was safe in their neighborhood.  I remembered that Waldo had run into her and broken her leg.  But I also remembered the crazy sight, when I left that day, of Waldo soundly sleeping on his back on the couch, legs straight up in the air, head hanging off the edge of the couch, nose pointed to the floor.  Goofy.  Strong.  Protective. Maybe that was the kind of dog I needed.

Phone conversations with Carol and Airedale research on the internet.  Puppy searches on Craig’s List. Two Airedale litters located, one about an hour away, one more like 4 hours away.  More phone calls to Carol.  Would you help me please?

The visit with the first litter was overwhelming.  I had never seen a garage floor so alive with so many puppies!  I sat on the floor, and every part of me that was reachable was either crawled over or chewed on.  No one stole my heart.  We headed back home. The second litter would mean a full day of travel, but Carol was game. This time we were ushered into a grassy back yard, and the puppies were released to play outside.  They were everywhere, tumbling and rolling over each other, some of them using us as jungle gyms, some of them stumbling over their own feet.  Colorful collars around every
little neck.   Oh so active and happy!   Unbeknownst  to me, as I sat on the ground laughing at the puppy chaos, one little female had snuck up behind me, and decided my lap was the perfect place for a nap. Annie had picked me.

She went home with us that day, but I was scared of the commitment. Would she add to the turmoil in my life, or would she help me through it?  Annie was renamed Biscuit.  (That’s a story for another time.) Biscuit and I had good puppy days and we had bad puppy days.  Snickers was an awesome mom, she helped housebreak Biscuit, and she taught her new puppy how to walk on a leash.  Carol supported, explained, consoled, and puppy sat more times than I can remember.   Mixed into
all those days were the moments of joy that I so badly needed.  But I still wasn’t sure this dog was for me.

Almost six months to the day of Biscuit’s arrival, Snickers let me know that she needed help crossing the Bridge.  I drove to the vet with her one last time, and came home alone.  I cried myself to sleep that afternoon.  When I woke up, I found Biscuit – sleeping with her nose touching my nose.  And she had stolen my heart.