In 2010, we bought our first home, I got my dream job, and I started having panic attacks. I am not sure if it was the hardest year of my life, or just the year that things became visible that had been there all along.

My husband and I decided that when we moved into a house with a yard we would adopt a dog. And very soon after we moved into our house, we went looking for the “perfect dog”.

I had a solid vision in my mind of what the “perfect dog” looked like. Growing up I had a golden retriever who was lovely and I had adopted another golden during college (embarrassingly, my parents inherited that dog from me when I left home). So in my mind, my next dog would probably be a golden retriever or a mix therof, it would be medium to large (I really disliked small dogs), it would love to walk and hike, and it would be outgoing and friendly.

At the third shelter, my hopes were wavering. We had visited dogs at two other shelters and none of them clicked with us. At the third shelter, we walked round and round, looking for the “perfect dog.” We visited with a few dogs, but none of them were right for us.

We were about to leave the shelter, empty-handed and disappointed, when my eyes were drawn downward to a small crate on the bottom row of a wall of small crates. These crates had tiny dogs in them like Chihuahuas, Pomeranians, and Yorkshire Terriers. The worst of the worst, I thought.

I stooped down to take a closer look at the thing in the bottom crate. This little creature had bulging, buggy eyes, mottled grey and black fur, and a long, flag-like tail. When I looked at it, it shrank even smaller and slightly wagged its flag of a tail.

In a moment of exasperation I asked the shelter volunteer if we could visit with this creature. She agreed and we went outside to wait for it to arrive. I sat down on the ground and watched the other families visiting with grand, retriever-like dogs. They looked happy and excited.

When our visitor arrived at the enclosure, he immediately ran to me and sat in my lap. And, well, he never moved from it. Something clicked with all three of us.

He was a small, long-haired Chihuahua. He hated to go on walks. The word ”walk” would send him running to his crate quaking with terror. For the few hikes on which we took him, I carried him much of the way. He was terrified of other dogs and children. He had been found in an abandoned house and had anxiety about being left alone.

But he was an excellent emotional support dog for us during a terribly difficult time. He was cuddly and snuggly. He was smart and learned over ten different tricks. He got along well with the cats. He travelled well in the car. He was quiet and loving. He was by our sides when we were really hurting.

We named him Smokey McMuggles. Smokey was not the dog we wanted, but he was the dog we needed.

what we need and what we want (part 1)

what we need and what we want (part 2)

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