So they call you a rescue dog, and I can understand why:
You were found abandoned, giving life your best try.
At just 9 weeks old, you had battled many infections.
But when I first laid eyes on you, all I saw was perfection.
I took you in my arms and gave you kisses that first day,
And when they told me you were available, there was nothing more to say.
That night I brought home a tiny, eight-pound bundle of joy.
And it didn’t really bother me you thought my arm was a chew toy.
From days and weeks of exhaustion and very little sleep,
I never doubted in my heart that mine was yours to keep.
When I first saw you get sick, my heart began to break,
But you were so resilient after all you’d had to take.
After your illness was over and you grew more and more,
Your energy was off the charts and all your doggy beds were torn.
You kept me to a strict schedule with our daily running routine;
As we explored new trails, you got so excited for things you’d seen.
We hiked canyons, we played fetch, and we napped together on the couch.
And when it came time for a bath, you’d hear me screaming, “Ouch!”
So that day on the Cherry Creek trail, when you began to seize,
I held you after you collapsed and yelled, “Someone help me, please!”
A kind woman stopped to help as you panted with glossy eyes.
All I could think was how to get my baby to the vet before she surely dies.
My dad came to meet us as I carried you across a park.
And we rushed you just a few miles–all the while, not one bark.
When your energy coursed through you again, I saw a new light.
And when we got home at 9 am, we slept like it was the night.
Your cuddles and your kisses and your snoring brought me to tears,
Because now I am just more grateful that we have so many more years.
You’re still learning how to listen and greet new people, too.
So with the joy that you’ve brought to my life, who really rescued who?