How Fate Brought Me My Ralph

According to surveys of pet owners, people who buy pets from breeders tend to say they chose their pet based on research and specific criteria. They credit their own careful decision-making. People who rescue, however, tend to say that their pet chose them. They often credit fate for putting them together, or feel that their connection was simply "meant to be."

I know which category I fall into. I wasn't looking for a cat when a stray kitten moved into my life. She chose me, so I loved her for the rest of her life. And when my Beagle Porter showed up, catatonic and traumatized from abuse, I knew I had to take him in. He needed me. I would soon find out that I needed him, too.

When he so sadly passed away, I didn't surf the web for a new pet. I waited for a couple months, then put out the word that I needed a dog. In the great cityscape of life, I turned my taxi cab's light on: I was available. 

After a few days, I got a Facebook message about a Beagle who'd bounced from shelter to shelter, named Abigail. I said I'd come get her. And that was how I found my shadow, my 19-pound soulmate. Though my time with Porter had been cut tragically short, his untimely passing suddenly seemed to make some sense. If I hadn't lost him, then I wouldn't have met Abigail, the fiercely loving little girl who adored me at first sight, and who seemed destined to be mine.

Abigail was my best friend and constant companion. Losing her four years later was devastating. Once again, I needed a dog. But as I surfed PetFinder.com, crying harder with every click, I felt paralyzed. I wanted all of the dogs, and my husband wanted none of them. How was I supposed to know which of them was my dog?

I was stuck in traffic one night when I mindlessly picked up my phone. I thumbed through Facebook for a second and landed on a brown dog. His family couldn't keep him anymore, so one of my friends was trying to find him a home.

"Okay, fine," I thought. I'd been hoping for another Beagle, but really, I just wanted a dog. Any dog. And that dog needed someone to love him. Who was I to get in the way? By the time the light turned green, I'd decided he could come live with me.

My husband gave in, and a few days later, the dog's owner dropped him off at our house. I accepted the leash and felt my heart sink. Abigail had been my babydoll, happy to be dressed in tiny pajamas and tucked into bed beside me. This dog was big, rough, and seemed to be made of solid muscle. He nearly pulled my arm out of its socket when I walked him, and he scaled our couch in a single bound. This wasn't my kind of dog at all. He slinked around our house, anxious and confused as a caged zoo animal, while I wept for my Abigail.

But we named him Ralphie, and we doted on him. Because that's how it works. 

That was 10 months ago. Today, Ralphie is my dog.

He wakes up happy, usually sprawled across my husband and me in bed. Ralphie loves his morning walk as much as I do, so we shake off our sleep and head into the morning light. He's so strong and so eager to gallop, I sometimes feel like I could just hold on to his leash, pick up my feet, and sail through the air behind him. But instead, he pulls me breathlessly along the sidewalk, exploring our neighborhood, meeting dogs, and enjoying being outside together.

As the pandemic keeps me close to home, Ralphie has become my sweet shadow. He knows my routine, napping beside me till lunch, then sweetly interrupting me for his noon walk. He brings me toys, he body slams me when he can't decide whether he wants to play or snuggle, and he lives to please me. He makes up new ways to communicate with me every day. And he'll parade around my bedroom with a toy in his mouth for no other purpose than to make me laugh.

There's a famous quote: "Everyone thinks they have the best dog in the world. And none of them are wrong." I knew I'd fall in love with any dog I picked.

But I'm sure glad I ended up with my Ralph.

Fierce and Loving: My Abigail

 We had an empty dog bed and a hole in our hearts. We offered them both to her.

Abigail was a Beagle who needed a home. That was all we knew about her when we agreed to take her in. We drove to the shelter to pick her up and brought her home to our apartment, which was a mess of cardboard boxes. Everything was in a state of change. We were newly married, mid-move, and I was crying, constantly, over the sudden death of our previous dog. I was in pieces.

Abigail, the skinny little stray who'd bounced from one shelter to another, took it in stride. Within minutes of moving in, she crept up beside me, studied my face, and pressed her body against mine. I cried, again. She cuddled in closer.

* * * *

It's funny to think about that day now. What happened to that Beagle, so demure and compliant?

Billy, Abigail, and I moved into a new home together. Before we knew it, Abigail was running the household. She asserted her preferences and we learned her routines. She ruled with an iron paw — conveying her demands with impatient sighs, defiant yips, breathless and happy hops, frustrated barks, stern glares, or a loving and contented gaze.

Abigail had an intellect that was humanlike. She always knew when we were talking about her, even if we tried to do it in secret. She'd lift her head from her pillow and fix us with a narrow-eyed stare, letting us know that she hadn't been sleeping, but rather, listening in the entire time.

Her grasp of vocabulary would put the brightest toddler to shame. Abigail even knew what day of the week and what time it was, as she let us know every Wednesday (her least favorite day of our week) and every night at dinnertime, sharp.

We never bothered to teach her commands, as we understood that pet tricks were beneath her. We were lucky to have a roommate who chose to behave so well most of the time, and she knew it. Abigail respected us and expected the same consideration.

In return, Abigail gave us her whole heart. 

She was my loyal shadow, and insisted that we touch at all times. Wherever I sat, she stayed pressed against me, and permitted herself to doze only lightly so she could get up and follow me to the kitchen or bathroom and back. She slept curled in my arms like a teddy bear at night and woke only when I did.

While any human relationship cools and normalizes over time, Abigail's adoration never faded. She'd wait, desperate and frantic, for my return each day. Then she'd throw herself at my feet, surrendering herself to our joyful reunion. Every single time.

Abigail hated cheap cheeses, bright lights, and women with ponytails and yoga mats. She loved kisses, sleeping in together on Sundays, and she was always proud to wear clothes. She refused to participate in a SnapChat, but was surprisingly fine with wearing a wig.

She was only 19 pounds, but her presence was enormous. She was part of every conversation we had. I spent my days holding her, petting her, doting on her, and basking in the joy it gave her to simply be loved. She would suffer for love — even enduring blinding sun on a hot deck rather than let me suntan without her.

When we passed another dog (or even a big truck) on the street, Abigail had to be restrained from defending us with her life. She would have died for me.

* * * *

I wish you could negotiate with death, for even one day. I would give anything to spend one more afternoon with her.

I miss her so much.

We only got to love Abigail for four years before her bad back lead to a fatal injury. Billy was out of town when I realized I had to let her go. Abigail, as brave and fierce with her love as ever, tried not to leave me. She fought the pain until her final breath. It was devastating to watch. But that was who she was.

I've finally stopped crying every day. But out of nowhere, I'll start missing her, and it will hit me all over again that she's never coming home. And it seems unfathomable. I wish I could have one more afternoon to lay with her. To smell her warm Beagle belly. To give her the one thing she lived for: loyal and unyielding love.

The First Dog I Ever Loved

This is a picture of Nookie, the first dog I ever loved, taken in 1975.

Nookie spent the first two years of her life as a guard dog at an auto body shop. This elegant and tender-hearted girl made a lousy guard dog (She loved to drink beer and was frequently found passed out drunk on the concrete floor). She went to live with my grandmother, and the two fell blissfully in love.

As you can see, Nookie was better suited for portrait sittings, evening strolls and belly rubs. I was smitten with her and pestered her endlessly, but she sweetly tolerated me and taught me how to love and respect animals. 💜💜

It made me so happy to find this photo at my parents' house today.

Heaven is Wherever My Animals Are

....

I didn’t grow up religious, but there are a couple things I place all my faith in:

1. Being good feels good.

2. Being bad feels bad.

3. When you die, all the animals you’ve ever loved come running to greet you.

Thinking about #3 has helped me through some dark days of grief. Now, when I die and cross over to the other side, I have my arrival all planned out. 

Woody

Woody will spot me first. Here on Earth, Woody used to lay inside the door of my dad’s guitar shop, casting a stern gaze at all the passers-by. Each time I approached the shop, he’d narrow his wary eyes … until I got close enough for him to recognize me.

I’d wait for it … that precise, adorable moment when Woody spotted me from afar. His whole expression would change. His alert ears would drop. His squared shoulders would go soft. His eyes would go wide and bright as his mouth opened in a doggie grin.

Yes, when I die, Woody will make his wiggly way toward me first.

But Porter, my dear, angel Porter, won’t be far behind. When Porter and I shared an apartment, he slept on a futon in the spare bedroom all day while I was at work. I lived for the moment when I pushed open our back door each day. Porter, waking with a start, would burst out of his bedroom, slide sideways into view, then get tangled in his own Beagle feet as he did a quick, gleeful pivot in the foyer.

One day, I’ll see him come tumbling into to view again … then careen around the clouds, galloping, ears flapping, and diving into my arms. I can’t wait to feel his stocky little body and bury my nose in his turkey-dinner smell. 

Porter

(Oh Porter! I miss you most of all.)

Betty

Betty and Nookie, the regal ladies, will bring up the rear. Betty won’t be the crooked, sick old girl I said goodbye to. She’ll be the sleek, athletic Husky who used to race me down grassy hills — thundering past me in a joyful blur. That’s the Betty I’ll see again. Billy the brown dog, my first love, will take his polite place in line, and sometimes, I feel like I can't even wait.

It breaks my heart to think of it now, as she sleeps beside me, but by then, my beloved cat Firefly will be there too. Her health has been failing, and every day seems like a bittersweet reason to celebrate. I don’t want her to go, but when she does, I hope she waits for me, too.

I hope it with all my heart.  

Firefly

The Beagle Who Brought Me Back to Life

 

Four years ago today, this little dog saved me.

I worked for an animal shelter, where I’d met thousands of adoptable dogs. But this dog, Porter, was unlike every one of them.

He came along like an answer to a prayer. I was going through a tough time, and nothing, not even medication, could rescue me from constant sadness. I wanted to give up.

This sick, abused little dog looked even worse than I felt. He was catatonic. He had given up.    

So I took him home with me. Porter recovered from illness. I recovered from loneliness. 

In particular, I found the strength to break away from a relationship that was very, very bad for me.

With Porter by my side, I took long walks. I started a new hobby. I found dog-friendly restaurants and took him out to eat. All the while, Porter's clingy devotion to me was actually funny. He gazed at me like I was an angel. 

But he was my angel. Somehow, having an adoring little dog helped bring me back to life.

I got better. I was free. And just in time. Because just months after Porter came along, I met my husband, and I was ready for him. I was no longer a broken, shell of a person. I was happy, excited, and ready to start a new life. I shed my baggage, and Porter, Billy, and I became a family.

It was the best thing that ever happened to me.

...

Porter left us too soon, in an accident so awful, it sometimes overshadows my memories of our time together. But that little dog and I had an otherworldly bond, and we still do. Sometimes I get an overwhelming feeling that he’s not so far away.

No matter how badly it hurts to think of Porter now, I’ll always be grateful for the gift he gave me. I only knew him for 2 years, but when he healed me, he gave me a whole new life.

xo, my sweet love.

Introducing Abigail

New Beagle snuggles while Angel Beagle watches from above

Meet Abigail ... a dainty Beagle with a huge weight on her shoulders.

Abigail must have loved someone once. Someone trained her and took care of her for a long time. But somehow, she ended up stray -- lost and loose in West Virginia. Someone found her and took her to a shelter, where she waited in a cage until her time was up. Luckily for her (and us), the shelter thought she was special enough to save. They contacted Animal Friends, who agreed to give her another chance.

Meanwhile, back in Pittsburgh, my husband and I were grieving. We still are. We'd had the most perfect dog: Porter, a loving Beagle who rescued me from a period of deep despair. Porter was my angel and constant companion. But we lost him in a tragic accident.

The despair returned. It crushed me.

We knew it would take a long time to mend our broken hearts. But in the mean time, we knew that another dog needed us. We had room in our hearts and our home, so we knew we had to save another homeless pet ... as soon as the time was right.

Eight long weeks later, I decided to put a little prayer out there: 

Please let our next dog find us. 

Before too long, an answer came. Eve at Animal Friends sent me a message to let me know that she'd found our dog. Billy and I went to Animal Friends to meet her -- Abigail. As soon as Billy knelt down in front of her, he knew he wanted to give her a home.

So now Abigail, a sweet, shrimpy little thing, has the huge task of helping a heartbroken family heal.

She's doing a pretty good job.

Abigail is loving. She wants to be held or cuddled 100% of the time. She found the right family, as we like to dote on our dogs (and each other).

She makes us laugh. She often seems concerned or confused, but she's learning to relax and take great pleasure in our daily routine. She loves going for walks, but she also loves coming home. She'll press her head into me until I give in and fold her into my arms for a snuggle. When Billy gets home, she whimpers until he scoops her up and holds her like a baby.

And, like her predecessor Porter, she likes to be my constant companion. She'll follow me anywhere, up and down stairs and back or into the darkest corner of our basement. Right now, we're fixing up our new house, and Abigail follows me from room to room, then dozes at my feet while I work. She just wants to be together.

Mostly, she is just herself ... innocent and hopeful and bursting with love.

Thanks, Abigail. You have a tough job to do, but you're doing fine.

Guy Smiley and Here is Your Life

Recently, I desperately needed to be cheered up.

I called my friend V because he can make me laugh, and so he did, immediately, when he referred to my Beagle as my little "Guy Smiley."

And here is your Here is Your Life host, Guy Smiley!

Instead of rehashing the horrors of my day, which never helps as much as you think it will, V and I launched right into recalling every detail that we could about Guy Smiley, the muppet, and his Sesame Street game show, "This is Your Life."

I remembered that Guy Smiley always got caught inside the stage curtain as he made his way out to the camera, and he would flail around in that distinctly Muppety way until he burst out (An early Kramer?). I also remembered an episode in which a tender-hearted loaf of bread was brought onto the game show (under the guise of being delivered to be made into a club sandwich) so she could be reunited with long-lost friends.

"Loaf of bread, here is your life!!"

I went home and YouTubed it, and realized then that the writers of 1980's Sesame Street were out of their minds.

Such a thought never even occurred to me when I was little.

In that episode, a loaf of bread with long eyelashes arrives on the set of the game show and asks how many slices of herself will be needed.

But Guy Smiley surprises her by, instead, bringing out the baker who baked her. (The studio audience coos when the baker shows a picture of the bread in her formative state, just an "adorable little recipe.")

Guy Smiley then promises to reveal the loaf of bread's best friend, another loaf who once sat on a grocery store shelf beside her. (Loaf of bread winces in anguish when she remembers the day that someone purchased that neighboring loaf and took her away.)

Guy Smiley then produces that long lost loaf... sort of. That loaf of bread has since been turned into two sandwiches and two plates of French toast, which, inexplicably, now have their very own personalities and even speak French!

But the best part might be when Guy Smiley announces that the show will be providing the loaf of bread with...a charm bracelet...so she'll always remember the day!

What? That's nuts!

But I remember watching the loaf of bread's show when I was little, and taking it perfectly seriously. I also remember the episode in which the oak tree is reunited with the cloud who rained on him, and when Guy Smiley visits a museum to surprise a painting of a bowl of fruit, which has eyeballs and is overcome with emotion when the paintbrush who painted him shows up.

I wonder if Sesame Street --and these very shows-- contributed to my steadfast belief that all things have feelings. When I was little, I believed that everything had feelings, and I thought that everything longed to do what it was meant to do. This is how I formed irrational attachments, and wept when my parents traded in our old car (I was sure it was devastated to be sent away), and wanted to rescue every garage-sale stuffed animal. I'd feel sorry for every lost and lonely glove, who surely felt useless and humiliated without its mate. I was convinced my first bicycle felt abandoned when I outgrew it.

Today, I know that's absurd, but I still feel sorry when I, say, send one of my purses to the secondhand store. I wonder if it casts a sad glance back at my other purses and thinks, "But what did I do? Wasn't I pretty enough?" And I hope it has a nice life, with someone who likes it and takes it to lots of places.

See what you did to me, Guy Smiley?

.......................

In other news, here are my current favorite things:

Taking my dog everywhere. I'm going to be really, really sad when summer is over and I can no longer socialize by making my friends join me at parks, or restaurants, bars and coffee shops with patio seating. Right now, if you want to see me, you also see my Beagle.

I guess most people leave their dogs at home most of the time. My dog knows that unless I'm going to work, the sound of my keys jangling means that we're headed for adventure, and he gamely hops into my car's back seat. He even knows the sound of a Subaru being unlocked vs. the sound of any other kind of car.

He's up for anything, except staying home alone. And he is the most perfect, amiable little sidekick.

Let's go play!

Related: Food Trucks. The biggest summer food trend, especially for people with dogs, is getting delicious food out of the window of a truck! A different truck comes to my neighborhood every Monday and I am especially fond of the Pittsburgh Taco Truck, with its amazing avocado cream, and Oh My Grill, which serves gourmet grilled cheese sandwiches and dipping sauces.

I also love the crepe truck:

and I love that Porter can come along when I dine this way.

I would like to invent a salad truck, who would have a dazzling array of toppings on various lettuces. Things like chick peas, hard boiled eggs, avocado, artichokes, cheeses, slivered almonds, and homemade dressings.

Also, still, Pearl Jam, who played two wonderful shows in London, Ontario and Wrigley Field, Chicago, in July. I'll see those guys in Pittsburgh in October for a long-awaited hometown show.

Dog-Friendly Dining in Pittsburgh

Dear local dog owners,
Will you help me add to this list?

Dog-friendly restaurants in Pittsburgh-Updated 9.20.15:

City East

Regent Square 
Biddle's Escape - coffee shop - porch - year round
61B - sidewalk ordering and seating - seasonal
D'z Six Packs and Dogs - sidewalk tables - seasonal
Thai Cottage - sidewalk tables - seasonal
Square Cafe - sidewalk tables - seasonal
Map Room - sidewalk tables - seasonal
Park Pizza and Cream - sidewalk ordering and seating - ask for the order window in wintertime
Food trucks visit Animal Nature every Monday and Biddle's Escape every Wednesday, summers only!

Squirrel Hill
61C - coffee shop - patio - year round, though chairs may be stacked in wintertime
Te Cafe - sidewalk tables, but not much room - seasonal
Tutti Fruiti - one sidewalk table - seasonal
Silky's - two sidewalk tables - seasonal
Aladdin's - sidewalk tables - seasonal

East Liberty 
Panera Bread Bakery Square patio - year round
Coffee Tree Roasters Bakery Square - patio - year round
Social Bakery Square - patio
Dinette - sidewalk tables - seasonal
Whole Foods - patio - year round
Verde - side patio
East End Brewing 

Shadyside
Oh Yeah Ice Cream - patio - year round
Mercurio's
Noodlehead
Cappy's - 5-6 sidewalk tables
China Palace
Girasole - patio
Soba - side patio
Brasserie 33 - sidewalk tables

Larenceville
Coca- sidewalk tables - seasonal
Round Corner Cantina - not back patio, but front tables on Butler Street
New Amsterdam (when they have the garage door up)

Highland Park
Park Brugge
Tazzo D'Oro

Bloomfield
Silky's

Homestead
Voodoo Brewing 

Oakland
(Will someone inquire about The Porch and report back?)

City South

South Side 
Double Wide Grill patio
Big Dog Coffee - patio

City North

Atria's, Federal Street (PNC Park) - patio

Bettis Grills - outdoor tables
Redfin Blues - patio

Suburbs
Il Pizzaiaolo - Mt. Lebanon - sidewalk tables - seasonal
Aladdins - sidewalk tables - seasonal
Crazy Mocha - Brentwood
Hartwood Restaraunt - Glenshaw
Grist House - Millvale

Links to other resources (I have not confirmed these places)

BringFido.com - Pittsburgh
CBS Pittsburgh's List of Best Pet-Friendly Restaurants 

And Then My Dog Showed Up

(I wrote this one for Animal Friends.)

I adopted a dog this year.

It’s not a big deal, I know. Especially because I work at Animal Friends. You’d think I’d be tempted to adopt dogs every day.

But I wasn’t tempted, because I know that our dogs go into wonderful homes. And because I live with a cat, and we have a cute, quiet routine. For the past 14 years, my cat has been my sweet sidekick. That seemed like enough.

But then Animal Friends’ Humane Officers rescued Porter, a sad, sick little Beagle. I met him, and it hit me—I could feel it with my whole heart.

Porter was my dog.

I wasn’t expecting a dog to show up in my life, and I didn’t even think my urban apartment was ready for a Beagle. I’ve worked at Animal Friends for a decade now, and watched thousands of adorable dogs go home. I'd had plenty of favorites among them. But one thing was certain: if I let Porter leave with someone else, I’d be making a huge mistake. I would lose my dog forever.

So I adopted Porter, and now our lives will never be the same. I get to take care of him every day, and I hope I get to watch my little guy grow old and gray. 

But the best part is watching him become who he is. Porter spent his first four years in an abusive home. When I met him, he was shy, tentative and wouldn’t look me in the eye. Over time, he has learned to trust me and has gained more confidence. Now he has a personality, goofy habits, and even (I think) a sense of humor.

And when I look at the photos I took of him when we first met, he looks like a different dog to me. Because he wasn’t Porter yet. He was just a neglected, insecure little soul—an empty vessel, of sorts. 

But every day, he settles into his routine and his innocent, sincere personality. He discovers things that he likes and he develops preferences. He’s learning how to behave, and why. He’s learning what it’s like to be loved. And he loves me back...that I can tell.

He’s Porter now.

Lucky, lucky me!

Daily Dog Walks and Being a Tourist in the East End

Porter, high above Frick Park

My daily dog walks have rekindled my love affair with my neighborhood.

I have a fierce love for Pittsburgh's East End, especially Regent Square, Park Place and Point Breeze. These  city neighborhoods are densely packed with old residential streets that you might not notice when you come and go by car. But if you start walking from Braddock Avenue, you'll find a thick maze of meandering streets that rarely conform to a boring grid. City blocks trail off into dead ends. A street will abruptly give way to a community of townhouses clustered around a sculpture garden. Roads widen, narrow and form triangles for no discernible reason. Some streets even lead to entrances to the sprawling and gloriously green Frick Park.

Best of all, every street is a surprise. One block will hold boarded-up or even burned-out houses. The next block will hold pristine Victorian homes with wrap-around porches and stained glass windows. There are dilapidated decks and overgrown gardens and then there are elegant turrets. There are stately mansions--some finely preserved, and some divvied into apartments. I count the mailboxes and wonder how they fit so many units inside.

A surprise turret in Point Breeze.

This house seems pleasant and plain from the front, but from the back, seems to slip down the cliff and into the jagged tangles of Frick Park. Best of all, there is a footpath that connects to Frick Park walking trails right behind it!

The front. (Move, car!)

View of the back. The house is perched over Frick Park.

Magical trail!!

If you lived here, you could bask in city life AND have this as your back yard. Heaven!

Porter still can't walk very far, so before heading home tonight, we took a quick romp through Frick Park...

Never look back!

My favorite building is the Old Heidelberg, a historic landmark in Park Place. I remember riding past it in my mom's car when I was little, and I imagined that very lucky, very interesting people must live inside--like playwrights and poets and professors.

What are you doing on Braddock Avenue?

The Old Heidelberg is 105 years old, whimsically bedecked in mushrooms and mosaics, and is delightfully symmetrical and random at the same time. While the building is balanced with an equal number of balconies, doors, and windows, every one is slightly different. Its architect, Frederick Scheibler, became my favorite architect.

So when I started reading this book about him, I learned that his work is all over my neighborhood. In fact, some of my favorite houses are actually, unbeknowst to me, his work! Making this discovery was like the distinct thrill of realizing that my secret crush had class in the room next to mine. Or something. So tonight after work, the Beagle and I set out on a treasure hunt for Scheibler buildings.

I made a beeline for Scheibler's Whitehall Apartments, which look to me like an Old Heidelberg Lite. 

I would like to see your insides.

Even though they're several blocks outside of my normal daily dog walk, the Parkstone Dwellings are a pretty fantastic piece of Scheibler's work. I once begged for and scored a tour when I went to an estate sale in the Dwellings' front yard. The inside is just something out of a dream...turrets, a wall of mosiac featuring a dinosaur (!!), little toadstool statues and ornate windows and trim. 

Recently, I've been lamenting the loss of my childhood imagination. But on these walks, my imagination swells back to life, just in a different way. I imagine what it must be like to live inside these pretty homes. Or, what the last century held inside them. Could Scheibler have pictured his buildings standing 100 years later, filled with new daily dramas and woes? Who was born and died inside them? At what point in history did the aristocrats start to move out, and the college students start to move in, turning the servants' quarters into mud rooms and storage? And, most of all, when am I going to strike in rich and buy my very own Scheibler house?

It's a boy! (I adopted my Beagle!)

My heart was wrapped in clover

At last, I adopted the Beagle I always wanted.

It's a trade-off. Things I'm giving up:

• a cleaner house
• a car interior that's not covered with muddy pawprints
• a good bit of money (spent so far on fancy dog food and treats, his bed, toys, collars and harnesses, baths, and soon, vet care and a mid-day dog walker)  
• the ability to hop from work to happy hour
• being able to not stand in the rain or snow first thing in the morning, begging my little creature to poop already

But it was pretty clear to me that all of those things equalled so much less than what he gives me. 

Porter makes my life feel wonderfully full. He makes me laugh, constantly, and that's no small thing. It's incredible, really, to wake up and just start cracking up at the wiggly little lovebug who can't wait to shower me with affection. It's amazing to watch him take on the world, making sincere but nonsensical decisions to bring me a leaf or take a nap while doing a headstand on my couch. 

He is my goofy, gangly, sweet little guy. Even though it took four years to find each other, he always was mine. And if I'm lucky, I will get to watch him pad through our life together until he grows old and gray.