The Liz Monster

When I was a little girl I had a dog. He was a Boston terrier named Dinky. Dinky was MY dog. Oh, there were other people in my house, but it was clear to me that Dinky was mine and mine alone.

Dinky was small for a Boston. I know this because I was only three at the time and I towered over him. But as we say about my mother, he was "little, but MIGHTY." And mighty he was.

One of the clearest memories I have of him was a long-ago winter day. It had been snowing heavily the night before, and Mom decided it would be a good thing if I took Dinky outside to play. My father was doing something in the front yard, so I took Dinky on his leash out into the snow to say hello. Dinky had a mind of his own and decided to walk down the hill instead of toward Dad.

Unfortunately, there was a drainage ditch at the bottom of the hill. Snow had drifted into the ditch, and when I walked into it I found snow up to my waist. I promptly fell down, burying myself up to the neck. Dinky, sensing something was wrong, immediately started pulling on the leash I still held in my hand. He was trying to pull me out of the snow! As small as he was, he was trying to help ME.

Dinky was the only dog I ever had as a child. My parents decided not to adopt another dog after Dinky died, so I ended up growing up without another canine playmate.

Fast forward forty years.

My own children wanted a dog. They whined, they nagged, they cajoled, they pleaded for a dog. It never stopped. I was adamant about not getting a dog. So was my husband. I told the kids they could have a dog if they could find one that didn't poop, pee, or shed. That was my compromise.

The kids didn't want a stuffed dog.

They continued to whine, nag, cajole, plead, and they even added begging to the list. Finally we laid down the law. NO DOG. Not now, not later. NEVER. They could like it or lump it. There would be NO DOG. EVER. I have allergies, my son has allergies, and we could not risk having an animal in the house. Besides which, animals of the live sort tend to poop. And pee. And shed. We were NOT going to get a DOG. End of story.

That is, until we met Munchkin.

The retired couple down the street have a dog. Mr. Retired walks the dog twice a day, faithfully. As he walks, he whistles. Loudly. Show tunes, hymns, old songs, new songs. You name it, that man can whistle it, and whistle it so the whole neighborhood can hear. One day, as he was walking by with the dog, I happened to be outside. I complimented him on his whistling, and just happened to notice the cute little furball he had in tow. Turns out the little furball's name was Munchkin. Munchkin is a miniature poodle.

As we talked, I kept noticing how very...well...CUTE this dog was. I mentioned it to him, and he took the opportunity to show me some of her tricks. I was amazed at how smart this dog was. I told Mr. Retired I'd like to have my husband see all the things she could do, and Mr. Retired invited us to come over that evening.

We were sunk.

Before the evening was over he had convinced us to get a miniature poodle of our own. Seems as though poodles are hypoallergenic, and because of their thick, curly coats they don't shed. We were going to be dog owners. Us. The dog haters. The allergic people. The people who had an aversion to shedding dog hair. The ones who hate poop and pee. The people who were NEVER going to get a DOG, no way, no how.

Two months later, we were the adoptive parents of a beautiful, black, bouncing baby girl miniature poodle. We were in love. We named her Lizzie.

That was five years ago. September 9th marks Lizzie's fifth birthday, so it is appropriate I write about her at this time. She has literally changed our lives.

Five years ago when my son and daughter-in-law called themselves "Mommy" and "Daddy" when they were speaking of their dogs, I had to laugh. "How silly!" I thought. Today, Daddy and I (Momma), speak the same way.

Five years ago I would NEVER think of letting a dog climb on my furniture. Lizzie now spends most of her time in one of the chairs next to me, either dozing or watching what I do with great interest.

Five years ago my eldest son knew without a doubt I would never have a dog. Today he asks me what alien being has taken over his mother's body and mind...the change in me has been that drastic.

Five years ago there was no one who was so excited to greet me at the door. No one who snuggled up behind my neck on the chair on a cold winter's night. No one who obeyed me without question and loved me so unconditionally, and no one who wanted to spend time just sitting with me when I wanted to be quiet.

We have been given a gift in this little dog. Call us crazy, but we love her. And I know the feeling is mutual.

God gives us so many things in this life that it's hard sometimes to be adequately thankful for each one. But for this one, Father, I am truly thankful.

Happy Birthday, Lizzie!

James 1:17
Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows.
New International Version © 1973, 1978, 1984 International Bible Society