So, this happened.
Photograph of a small, white dog.

As many of you know, I’ve been searching for a rescue dog for several weeks. Last Thursday, I talked to a woman from a local rescue about a dog she had available. She said that particular dog wouldn’t fit our family, but she was getting a terrier in from a California shelter on Saturday and I should come by to meet her. My mom was arriving Saturday for a visit and the rescue was on the way home from the airport, so I talked her in to going with me. It didn’t take much talking, as she’s the one who fostered my love of dogs in the first place.

Here we are mid-snuggle.
Photograph of two women holding a small white dog on their laps.

As it turned out, the dog that arrived on Saturday was not a terrier, but a corgi/American Eskimo mix. She had been there only two hours when the woman led her in to meet us. The dog came right over to me and jumped up for a snuggle. I gave her some love and she turned to my mom to join in. She was calm and sweet and affectionate. It was quite the love-fest.

The rescue lady brought in another dog she thought might be interesting to me. The new dog was lanky and hyper, but the white dog remained calm and was submissive. He tried to play with her, but she was having none of it. She stuck right by me, seeming to broadcast softly that I was hers and she’d appreciate it if the interloper would just move along. And he eventually did.

We had been looking for a dog that was two to three years old, potty trained, and weighed around 20 pounds. This white dog was supposed to be about a year old, possibly potty-trained, and about 17 pounds. So, only one definite out of the three. P.S. she’s not potty-trained, so it ended up one out of three. But it was the right one.

Anyway, the dog didn’t bat an eye when the rescue lady looked at her teeth and told me she seemed more like seven months. The lady got the paperwork and the dog puppy turned out to be six months old. Should have been strike one, but I was already too far gone.

She was very dirty (you can see in the picture with Mom and me that she looks more tan than white) and I couldn’t tell for sure if I was allergic to her. But, again, too far gone, so we took her home to foster for a week before making the final decision. Turns out she cleans up nice. Once we got all the dirt and grime from her truck ride from California off, I could tell she wouldn’t trigger my allergies, which was good, as we’d already pretty much decided to keep her.

Sitting in the backyard with her that first day, Zoo Keeper asked what her name was and we said she didn’t have one yet. He looked over at her and said, “Come here, Anonymous.” I laughed so hard I knew it had to be her name. We call her Annie for short. Though one of my nieces pointed out that we really should spell it with a y. Maybe An’ny’. Unfortunately, we’d already had her tag engraved, so she stays Annie.

For the first day or so, Annie was totally quiet and very calm. Sparky was even beginning to wonder if she had the right energy level for our family. Right after he said that, though, she grabbed one of her toys, smacked me with it, and began to play. Energy level, check.

We’re working on the potty training. I think today was the first day with no accidents. Progress. Yay.

This is pretty much what she has to look forward to. It’s a rough life, being our dog.
Photograph of a man lying on the floor next to a dog bed, snuggling with a small, white, dog.

Her fur is soft and silky. I just want to bury my face in it. She has corgi ears, feet, and long body, but her face is all Eskie. We knew she looked a lot like our dog who passed eight years ago, Samantha, but the depth of the resemblance didn’t hit us until she started to play. Her play movements are just like Sam’s. It’s uncanny and a little unsettling. We’ve decided to look on it like a blessing. As if Sam is giving her stamp of approval for this new puppy to join the family.