I grew up with my mother’s dogs, Coco and her daughter Pixie, and later on, Boo. They were, for all intents and purposes, my canine sisters. And about a year after Mom passed away, I brought Boo back to the house we had both grown up in and we kept each other company until she passed away in the beginning of August 1988. The house was terribly empty without the click-click of her nails on the kitchen floor and the welcome-home bark at the end of each work day. And that’s when I started my search for my own dog, a puppy I could raise, train, and love.
I found my little girl at the home of a breeder. This woman was very nice, and although she had two litters of puppies living inside her house at the time, the house was immaculate. I explained that I had to go to a work-related conference the following week and asked if she would keep the puppy for me until I got home from the conference. Back then, I had no qualms about trusting people and Kissy’s breeder was well-known and reputable. She allowed me to take Kissy home for the week even though I had only given her the deposit; and when I picked her up again after the conference, I gave her the rest of the money. From the moment I brought Kissy back into our house, our bond was evident and grew stronger by the day. She became my heart dog. We played together, went on long walks together, had our meals together. She was my baby; and she was my best friend, furry or otherwise.
When hubby and I were talking about getting married, he wasn’t exactly keen on the idea of having an “inside dog”. So I laid my cards on the table. Kissy is not just a dog, she is my baby. She is my family, just like Jason is your son, your family. She comes with me, and lives in the house with us, or all our plans end here and now. If you want me to accept Jason, you will have to accept Kissy; no ifs, ands, or buts about it. He agreed. It didn’t take long for him to love my little girl.
We said goodbye to my sweet Kissy, my heart dog, on December 5th, 2003.