I grew up with Budgie, a cocker spaniel/Brittany spaniel mix, the most wonderful dog in the world.  Budgie was handsme and smart.  He was affectionate.  He was gentle with kids, and he never barked without a good reason.  He came when we called him.  He was usually up for a game of fetch, and he loved to take long walks with my mother.  He never had an accident in the house until he was elderly and couldn't help himself.  He lived with my family for nearly 17 years, and we were heartbroken when he finally had to be put down. 

It took a long time after Budgie died to be ready for another dog.  When I moved to Wilmington in 2005 and finally in a position to give a dog a stable home, I decided I was ready. 

I had two requirements.  First, I knew I wanted a rescue or shelter dog.  Thousands of dogs and cats are put down every year because of irresponsible breeders looking to make a buck, and because of people who, for whatever reason, decide that they that the pets they adopted no longer fit into their lives.  I wanted to do my part.  Second, I wanted a small dog - because I lived in L.A. for 3 years and love Chihuahuas, and because at the time I lived in an apartment and I thought a small dog would do better in the confined space. 

I began my search through local rescue organizations.  I soon found out that it is very difficult indeed for a single woman living alone and working full-time to adopt a dog through a rescue.  Some rescues disqualified me automatically.  Others ruled me out once they found out I lived in an apartment and didn't have a fenced in yard.  One rescue made me write a personal essay on the topic of "Why I want to adopt a dog from your rescue."  They never got back to me.  After five months of fruitless searching, I finally saw Archie's picture on www.petfinder.com.  He was at the Animal Welfare Association of Voorhees, New Jersey.  A few days later, I picked him up and brought him home, on February 2, 2006.  Like Budge, Archie is handsome and smart, charmingly affectionate, and gentle with kids.  But he's a barky little dog, and his bark can pierce eardrums.  He doesn't come when called, or at least, he only comes when he feels like it.  He can't play fetch because he doesn't understand that he's supposed to bring the ball back -- he'd rather hunker down in a corner and gnaw at it for a while.  He likes to walk, but only when the temperature is between 40 and 75 degrees fahrenheit.  He's still not entirely housebroken. . . but he's the sweetest little snugglemuffin a girl could ask for, and I can hardly remember what it was like before I adopted him.  Here he is this past weekend: 

Happy Adoption Day, babycakes!!!