Roy didn’t buy me Shinobi on our anniversary, and I wouldn’t even say that Shinobi was necessarily my anniversary present, but that is what I say he is.  Shinobi is my dog - a chubby, roly-poly, fawn pug.

I am not sure of the exact date, but I would guess sometime in 2000, Roy and I adopted a foxhound from the rescue company that used to set up shop in the local Petsmart.  Whomever fostered the dog originally named him Heathcliff (I am assuming it is because the person liked Wuthering Heights, as opposed to the old cartoon), and we kept the name.  When we adopted him, Heathcliff was already about 50 pounds, and I would say maybe 4 1/2 feet when standing on his hind legs, but we were assured he would not get any bigger.  Well, whomever assured us was wrong - in that first year, I would say Heathcliff put on about 40 pounds and grew tall enough so that he could put his paws on Roy’s shoulders while Roy stood - Roy is about 6’2”.  But Heathcliff was so gentle.  The boys used to lay on his stomach as he slept on the ground, and they would watch cartoons.  Addi would even sit on his back and hug him, Heathcliff took it all and seemed to give me a goofy smile as I would pass them.

When we moved to the bigger house, I was pregnant with Hayden and my parents kept the dogs - we also had a little daschund, Missy - for us while we stayed in a hotel waiting for the house to be finished.  My mom constantly sang Heathcliff’s praises.  Missy was another story.  She was a tiny dog.  We had taken her from Roy’s mom when they moved.  Missy was ornery to say the least.  She didn’t like many people, tolerated the kids, and was basically a little diva.  I thought moving to the big house would not only be great for the kids, but the dogs as well.  But we ran into some issues.  We have an unusually shaped yard; we have a huge side yard, and almost no back yard, so a fence presented a real problem for us, or rather getting approval from our HOA for a fence was a real problem for us.  I thought things would be ok, and that I could just walk Heathcliff, but as I got further along in my pregnancy (all while still trying to coach swimming full time), it became clear that my dog was lacking outside time.  Still sure I could handle it, the boys somehow talked me into adopting ANOTHER dog - Rocky. 

Rocky was the exact opposite of Heathcliff.  He was wild and loved to play, but he needed constant attention.  When he didn’t get that attention, he acted up.  Corey’s carpet in his room is testament to that - a large area of ruined carpet shows where he was left alone and dug through.  The kids did what they could, but soon school, work, and another pregnancy finally showed me the truth - my beloved Heathcliff was becoming overweight and unhealthy.  He was acting out because he didn’t get enough exercise, but because he had so much stored up energy, it was getting to the point where Roy was the only one that could give him the exercise he needed.  Unfortunately, at that point in time, Roy was moving up within his organization and didn’t have the time needed to run Heathcliff a couple of times a day.

“Chris, we need to talk.” Roy announced as I was probably cooking dinner.

“Sure, what’s up?”

“Perhaps we should look for another home for the dogs.” He broached the subject carefully with me.

I am sure that first time I said nothing, merely gave him a dirty look and went about my business.  He let the matter drop, but revisited it again a few months later.

“Chris, we’re getting ready to go to Georgia, this might be the time to deal with the dogs.  We won’t be home for a few weeks and perhaps the kids won’t think about it.”

I was angry and am sure I told him that.  I am sure I told him to just get his butt in gear and take my dog out, but in my heart, I knew he was right.  Heathcliff would die sooner than he should because at this point, he was overweight and not getting enough exercise.  Rocky needed more attention than I could give him while the boys were in school, and with a new baby on the way, things would only get worse.

I told Roy he was right, and my only condition was, I would not go with him to drop the dogs off.  He said he would do it, and we prepared the kids. 

The day before we left, I took the kids out for lunch, and Roy got the dogs in the car and took them to the local shelter.  It wasn’t ideal, but I knew that someone would see Heathcliff’s gentle nature and would adopt him.  Rocky was still young, and he was an amiable dog, so I knew he would be fine as well.  Roy told me dropping off the dogs and walking away was one of the hardest things he had done.  He even cried a bit walking out to the car.  This all coming from a man who saw many animals come and go on the farm growing up.  I tried not to think about it, and once I made the decision to let the dogs go, I knew I was making the right one.  I called when we got back from Georgia and was thrilled to hear that Heathcliff was adopted almost right away, and Rocky was being fostered to a family that had committed to train him and work on his behavior.  I couldn’t get any more details, but I was assured they went to good homes.

This wasn’t a decision taken lightly. We both knew the dogs would be better off with families/homes that had room for them to roam and enjoy the outdoors. Especially if we cared about their health. In the end, this left us with only one dog, Missy. Tiny, tiny Missy.

However, on our trip to Georgia, Corey fell in love with a little white ball of fur that he later named Apollo.  My sister-in-law’s husband breeds dogs, and Apollo was an American Eskimo.  No, not a husky.  He is only about 35 pounds full grown, but I was furious when, somehow, I was talked into letting Corey take this dog.  I had just given up a dog I loved because we didn’t have the room for him or the time to truly care for him.  The kids gave up Rocky for the same reason, and, somehow, here we are - another dog!

My anger abated, and I grew to tolerate and then truly care for the giant white furball.  Fortunately, Apollo was small enough to be considered an inside dog and could easily get exercise - just like Missy. But as Apollo integrated in our family, it became obvious to Roy and I that Missy was not doing well. 

I imagine it was September of 2009, and Roy was out of town.  Missy was asleep in her little bed in our room, and around 1am I woke up to a pitiful cry.  It stopped after a moment, only to resume about an hour later.  I got out of bed, and turned on the light.  Missy was lying in bed and seemed agitated.  She was tossing and turning, almost like she couldn’t get comfortable, and she was crying.  I sat next to her, trying to calm her down, and after about 30 minutes, she seemed to tire herself out and slept.  I made a note to call the vet and bring her in the next day, afraid of what I would hear.  The next morning she seemed fine!  She bounded down the stairs next to me, and fussed when the kids bothered her.  Guess she just had a bad meal.

She seemed ok for the next few months.  She slowed down and was not as feisty, but other than that, she seemed like her old self.  And I chalked it up to just that - she was getting older and more lazy.  In early December, I came downstairs.  At this point, Missy was no longer sleeping in our room.  As a precaution, we didn’t want her running up and down the stairs.  Plus, she just seemed more comfortable in her bed downstairs.  I would come downstairs, turn on the light, and she would stir and sit up to greet me, until I took her outside.  But this particular morning, nothing.  I was almost afraid to go over to the cage, and I prayed that she was just tired.  But I approached her cage, and she just looked up at me with eyes I was almost sure could not see me - she had clouded vision for years.  I opened her crate and called to her, and watched as she struggled to get up.  At this point, I knew something was wrong, and I told Corey to get his dad.

A few minutes later, Roy came downstairs and found me sitting next to her crate with her in my lap.  I am not sure what happened during the night, but our tiny dog didn’t seem to be able to use her back legs.  Roy gently took her from me and took her outside, where he told me she could barely walk.  She ended up soiling herself, and we cleaned her off after he brought her back inside.  She didn’t want to eat, she couldn’t walk, and Roy didn’t have to tell me, but something needed to happen.

We did some research, and though we aren’t vets, all signs pointed to IVDD (intervertebral disc disease).  Missy was an older dog, and we had given her a good life.  She had a home where she was loved, warm in the cold and cool in the summer.  I called the vet, and Roy and I decided that I would bring her in alone, while he stayed home with the baby.

The vet’s office was wonderful.  They explained everything to me.  The vet confirmed our layman’s diagnosis, and also noted a few additional issues.  They confirmed that she was blind and probably also near deaf.  They also noted liver problems.  And finally, they made note that there was little that could be done for her except pain relieving drugs for her remaining future - which they did not feel was much longer.  Before I left the house, Roy and I had already decided what was the best choice for her at this point, if anything serious was wrong.  The vet explained what would happen when he injected her, and he reassured me that even though this was hard, at this point in her life, putting her to sleep was the humane thing to do.   After they gave her the injection, the doctor and the nurse left the room and told me to take as much time as I needed.  When I felt a bit stronger, the nurse gently took Missy and wrapped her in her favorite towel/blanket for me to take home.

I cried on the drive home, and when I pulled into the driveway, Roy came out to meet me.  I was happy to hear Dean was asleep.  While I was at the vet and knew what the final verdict was, Roy actually made a tiny coffin (I hate saying that) for Missy, and we decorated it with messages for her.  We buried her under the little magnolia tree in our yard, and Roy and I shed more than a few tears for her.  It helped me to hear Roy tell me we gave her a good life, and letting her live in pain would not have been the responsible thing to do.

Perhaps it was because I didn’t realize how comforting it was to have Missy around until after she passed, but after Christmas, Roy started asking me if I wanted another puppy.  He showed me pictures of bulldogs, and I fell in love.  Getting a puppy would mean that the dog would be with me for years and years.  I could take care of him or her and give it a good life.  Soon, we discovered just how costly bulldogs were, and all the health problems they could face.  Roy and I still kept looking, and one night while I was sitting on the couch, Roy sent me a link to a local breeder.

I clicked on the link and was greeted by three tiny puppies - their goofy faces melted my heart, and it sealed the deal for me.  I wanted a pug.  I did my research this time.  I contacted numerous local breeders, asked questions, asked about health concerns, checked references, etc.  But my biggest issue was - are they family dogs?  I was assured they were.  Pugs love to play and are great with kids.

One cold Friday, Roy had the day off and told me to get dressed.  He called a few of the breeders and said he was going to take me to see the pups.  The first place we went to had some beautiful dogs.  The lady just seemed to love pugs, and she was a wealth of information.  And though the dogs were cute, I was able to walk away - which told me all I needed to know. They were not the puppies for me.

The next place we went to was honestly… depressing.  Roy said it was basically a local puppy mill, and to this I plead ignorance.  I don’t know much about places like this.  All I saw was a tiny little fawn boy that wandered around my feet.  Fortunately, I had called references beforehand, and we were comfortable with the quality of dog they (and the other breeder we visited) offered.  Hayden fell in love with a black pug, but my heart was set on the tiny fawn pup in my arms.  Roy told me it was up to me, and I stood there asking myself if I could walk out that door without the puppy.  I looked down, and all I saw was big, liquid black eyes staring back at me.

“I want this puppy.” I requested.

The lady that worked there cleaned him up for us.  She gave him a required shot and told Roy what to do when we got home.  I wrapped the puppy in the old towel Roy had brought along and carried him with me to the car.  I cuddled him on my lap the entire time it took us to get home.  Roy came up with the name Shinobi, and I am pretty sure it is from some old video game.  I just thought it was cool.

Shinobi has been with us almost a year now.  He still has accidents (as many pugs require more time to potty train), and Roy fusses at me every time, but I know he loves him as much as I do.  Hayden adores him, and I often find Shinobi curled up next to Hayden on the floor or the couch.  Shinobi is WONDERFUL with the kids - warm, playful, and cuddly.  Roy and Joe call him “fatbody,” but it’s with affection, so I let it go, even laugh when they do.

Shinobi hasn’t replaced Heathcliff or Missy, but he is a welcome addition to the chaos that is our home.  I adore my goofy, chubby, crazy little pug, and I am thrilled that I held my breath and went into that depressing “store,” because I came out of there with my furry little baby.

It’s been 11 years since I walked down the aisle.  11 years since my father took my hand and “gave me” to Roy.  It’s been the best 11 years of my life!

Well, 12 1/2 years really, because the time before our marriage, our “courtship,” was pretty rockin’ too!

The first day we met, Roy told me I smelled good.  I am sure I blushed and tried to brush it off, but he persisted and asked me what kind of perfume I was wearing.  I told him, and he continued to flirt with me.  (about six years later he gave me that same perfume for Christmas, not sure if he remembered or just smelled some perfume at the store and happened to still like it.)  I tell him this all the time, though I am not sure if he believes me, but I thought he was joking when he “asked me out.”  And let me be clear, he didn’t come out and say, “Do you want to go out with me?”  He would always tease me, saying something to the effect of, “So, when are you going to go out with me?”  He was younger than me, and frankly I thought if I actually gave him a specific answer, I would find out that he was just trying to pass the long hours of working retail.

Anyways, we finally made plans, and, wouldn’t you know it, he was late for our very first date!  To be fair, the street sign was turned around and that caused some confusion for him, but all I thought was… “Oh, my gosh!  I am being stood up!”  But before too long, he rang the doorbell and off we went.  Our first date went the way of many first dates, I am sure.  I think we both felt a bit awkward, but eventually things settled down, and we watched Starship Troopers.  (my pick; to be fair, Roy did ask me if I wanted to watch something a bit more “romantic.”)

The next few dates were increasingly good - kind of a weak word, but Roy impressed me greatly, without putting forth a whole lot of effort.  And let me explain that a bit, I was very impressed with his manners, his sense of humor, how easy he was to be with.  I never felt like he was showing off, he was just being who he was and that was one of the things that made me fall in love with him.

I remember going up the escalator at a mall in Georgetown and knowing that I would fall in love with him.

I remember going down the escalator at another mall and falling in love with Roy.

I remember giving birth to our three younger boys.  I was exhausted beyond words, and I told Roy that I couldn’t do this, I was too tired.  And he smoothed the hair off my sweaty brow, gave me a kiss, and said that YES, I could do this.  I could do anything, and for just a moment I felt like I could do anything… as long as he was by my side.

I remember buying our first house together and then doing what we could to make it a home.  The painting, the hot water heater flooding the laundry room and dripping down into the kitchen.  The mess he made in our bedroom when he decided to make me a little niche in the wall.  Joe started school as we lived in that house, and I remember how sad I was the day we packed everything up and walked out of our first home for the last time.

I remember our first night in our new home - Addi got sick, and we didn’t have any medicine for him.  We didn’t have much - most of our things were still in the car or in storage!  But we got through it.  This house was a lot bigger than our first house, so the painting took a lot longer, and I was pregnant with Hayden this time.  While we painted the kitchen - and I say “we” with a grain of salt here - Roy never said anything as he moved around the kitchen painting like a beast, and I sat in the corner and put about twelve coats on the same small section of wall.

I remember Addi starting kindergarten, Corey then Joe starting middle school, Corey starting high school, Joe starting high school, Addi starting middle school, Hayden going to preschool, finding out I was pregnant with Dean, Hayden going to kindergarten, Dean’s first steps,  teaching Corey how to drive, Dean’s first words,  the first time Corey drove away after he got his license, I remember first dates, first break-ups, and first heartbreaks.  I remember the fights, the laughter, and coming to believe that even though the bad times might feel really bad at the moment, the good times will always outweigh the bad, because we are together.

When I met Roy, I didn’t know if I still believed in true love.  I didn’t know if I believed in forever, but after 12 1/2 years of Roy by my side, I can honestly say not a day has gone by that I haven’t loved him with all that I am.  Through the good times and the bad.  Even if it’s Roy that I am mad at, I have never doubted that I loved him with all my heart, that 11 years ago when I said “I do,” I made the best decision of my life.

Roy - the past 11 years of marriage have been the greatest adventure for me.  You have made me smile, you have made me laugh, and, yes, a few times you have made me cry.  When you put your arms around me I know that nothing can hurt me.  I know that as long as you are by my side, I can do anything.

I love you!  HAPPY 11th ANNIVERSARY!

What a month December 1999 was!  On December 3 we closed on our first home!  We got a great deal on a little fixer upper, and what a journey that was!  We were lucky that Roy’s parents let us stay with them, so we were able to take our time painting and dealing with other preparations.  I was so excited to pick out colors - a warm sunny yellow with green frogs stamped around the room for Addi (he was about 9 months old at the time).  For the older boys, who were sharing a huge room, a beautiful primary blue with the sun and moon stamped around the top.  While I painted the boys would play with the few toys we had brought over, and one day I decided to have the boys dip their hands in paint and then “stamp” them on the wall in their closet.  How I wish I could see those little handprints now!

We moved in about ten days after we closed, and I was determined to cook in my new kitchen the very next day.  At nine o’clock that evening I ran to the store and bought two huge carts worth of food.  When I got home I loved putting things away in OUR cabinets and fridge.  Of course, Roy was busy watching “The Practice.”

Soon after moving in, one of our house-warming presents was a leaking water heater that flooded the utility room on the second floor of our three-level walk up, and dripped through the ceiling into the dining room.  LOTS of fun!

Christmas morning came around, and it was cold, but beautiful, because we were in our own home… with a brand new water heater! We didn’t have much money and decided to try and get the boys each one special gift and some stocking stuffers.  Someone got a bike that year, someone else got a cool toy chest with shelves, and little Addi got an exersaucer.  As I write this I am looking at our tree for this year, and the piles of presents underneath.  More than once I have asked Roy if he thinks we spoil the boys, and he admits we do, but I also know (and he has told me) that it makes him proud to know we can now.  (Mind you, I don’t think my boys act like spoiled brats… well, not all the time.)  Times HAVE changed, and don’t get me wrong, I LOVE knowing we can afford the “finer things in life.”  (Is a PS3 a finer thing?  I don’t know, but my purses sure are!) But those first few years, when we struggled and sometimes didn’t have the money for the things we wanted are looked at now fondly, at least for me anyways, because it reminds me how far we have come together.

Anyways, back to December 1999!  We had a big Christmas brunch - I probably made eggs, cinnamon rolls, and maybe sausage.  Then we packed the boys up and headed to Roy’s parents house for a late lunch.  We spent some time there, and then it was back into the car to head to my parents for Christmas dinner.  I think we spent more time on the road that year than we did celebrating, but it was nice knowing that family was close and the kids could have that.

On December 27th, I kissed my husband (Wait!  He was my fiancé then!) goodbye, hugged the boys and told all four of them to be good.  I got into my sister’s car, and waved at my four guys - Roy, Corey, Joe and Addi.  Kim and I were heading up to the hotel where Roy and I were going to get married the next day.  We decided to have a girl’s night, and then tomorrow we would get up and go have breakfast together, do some last minute shopping, and then get our hair done in time for the 2pm ceremony.  11 years later, I joke with Roy that he spent his last night as a single man calling me on the phone.  I got at least ten phone calls from him, each one sillier than the last, but I loved knowing that he would rather talk to me than go hang out at some strip club.  (Though to be fair, he did have the three boys with him.)

The next morning dawned bright and early.  Kim and I took turns in the shower and then headed downstairs for some breakfast.  After an extra cup of coffee for me, we headed out to find something to put in my hair as I refused to wear a veil.  We went to a few local stores, and I finally found a thin strand of pearls that I hoped someone could weave into my hair.

Three hours later, Kim was fastening me into a bustier and telling me to go to the bathroom before she zipped me into my dress.  I fussed at her saying I did NOT have to go, and then, wouldn’t you know it, as soon as I was dressed I had to!  Just like a little kid in their snow suit.  1:45pm rolled around, and Kim peeked out the door of our room, into the courtyard below.

“Lots of people here, Chris!”

“Really?  Do you see Roy and the boys yet?”  I asked, almost fearfully.

“Not yet, but I am sure they are on their way and will be here any second.”  Like a good maid of honor, Kim did everything she could to reassure me.

I called Roy on his cell phone and fussed at him, wondering where he was and telling him he better not be late for his own wedding!  And with just five minutes to spare, Roy ran into the hotel carrying Addi while his cousin Stephen held onto Joe and Corey.

Ok, this was it… I was going to marry the man I loved.  My dad came up to our room to get me.

“You ready?”  He smiled at me, and Kim left to go ahead of us.

“I’m ready.  Let’s do this.” And I picked up the bouquet of white and red roses.

In the elevator, on the ride down, my dad told me that my dress was really lovely, and I know this was his way of saying that I looked pretty.  I thanked him, and as we stepped out of the elevator and got in place, I took his arm.  Roy’s uncle had asked if he could play his guitar for us during the ceremony, and we were ecstatic.  My dad and I stood there waiting for the traditional wedding march.  We laughed, and then finally figured out (after our guests whispered for me to come on) that traditional was out, and we were to go.

At the alter, I saw my fiancé smile at me, and his eyes go wide.  We had stuck to tradition here, and Roy never saw my dress before that moment.  My father gave me a kiss and put my hand in Roy’s, responding that he and my mother give me away.  (Sounds sort of depressing when you put it that way…) Roy whispered to me that I looked beautiful, and I struggled not to cry as we recited our vows to one another.

After the ceremony, we went into the room where our dinner was being held.  the DJ we decided to hire on a whim announced us, and for the first time, I heard someone else call me “Mrs. D.” (We’ll use D as our last name here.)  Our pictures tell the story, Roy danced with his mother and his grandmother, I danced with my dad and my new father-in-law.  Roy and I danced while I held Addi close, and then I spun around the room with Corey and Joe.  We also have pictured of Roy holding me close, while I look up at him with unabashed love and devotion.  They truly are beautiful pictures.  (Do I sound somewhat conceited there? But they are beautiful.)

11 years later, I still enjoy hearing someone call me Mrs. D, or even Roy’s wife.  While I try not to let my status as Roy’s wife define me, there is no denying that is who I am.  I am a wife and a mother, and I proudly wear those labels, but nothing will come close to the pride I felt on December 28th, 1999 - the day I became Mrs. D.