Mom guilt is a real thing. I suffer from an acute case of dog mom guilt. Particularly when it comes to my original love: Beau.
She is so beautiful
I adopted Beau six years ago. So she spent more than three years living her best life as the sole proprietor of double-income parents. Then her mom—that would be me—had to go fuck shit up for her by bringing home a very pregnant tiny tot of a dog, and by tiny, I mean, Tessa is 35 pounds.
Poor Beau. Her home had been invaded, and now, she is the proud matriarch of five underlings. She does love the fear she strikes into all their hearts. She also loves having built in playmates to torture. I will never know how my eight year old dog runs the shit out of four three-year-olds. She is aging well.
I realized last week, Beau is in fact aging. My once energizer bunny who would zoomy all across the beach and any free space, preferred sitting on the beach, watching Mommy and a friend play in the water. She ran around, digging and playing, but she was calmer and far better behaved than she’s ever been in her entire life. As proud as I am, I hate it. She’s getting older. She’s far from old, but her age is starting to show. She used to bound into the ocean, sticking her entire head under water. She would dig a huge hole and roll around in it. She would leap to catch sand, yes sand, in her mouth. She would run as the waves came in and chase them out again. When I would run out into the ocean, Beau would be on my heels. At one point, I was standing a ways out, about knee deep, for ten minutes or so. Eventually, Beau decided I’d had enough deep water time, so she swam out, poked me with her nose, and made it clear I was to come back to the safety of the shore.
The mom guilt comes in because, well, it’s always there about everything. Yet, I hadn’t taken Beau to the beach since before the pandemic. She loves it there so much, and I forgot to make time. Three years is such a long time in a dog’s life, and I deprived her of a great love for three years all because I forgot to make time.
There is no one more precious in all the world.
What in the actual fuck, RaeAnna?!
I am an absolute failure of mother. Absolute might be a bit extreme. They’re loved, healthy, sheltered, and well-fed. Feeding my girl’s soul? That’s also important, and I forgot. I’ve forgotten to feed my own, but that’s my fault. Beau doesn’t have a voice or a choice. It’s my privilege to make her life the best it can be. Pre-pandemic, pre-puppies, Beau was on the go 24/7 as we traveled the country together. She has lived an adventurous life, but her life got small in the last three years, and that’s on me.
So I’m going to do better by Beau and all the others. Unfortunately, Beau has less time. It’s the reality of dogs’ lives, but it’s the reality of her being the oldest. The days are ticking. They always have been. Going to the beach last week reminded me just how precious every single moment with her and her siblings is.
I love my dogs so, so, so much. All six of them. I have no favorite. They each have my whole heart because they are uniquely and perfectly themselves.
People, who are not me, tend to fall into two categories:
Oh my God. That’s too many. You need to find new homes for some of them.
Oh my God. You are living the dream.
To the people in the two categories, I say:
Fuck you. It’s a good thing it’s not your life.
I KNOW! IT’S THE BEST THING EVER.
Boys, Duke and Knight, relaxing before the vet comes in.
Life changed extravagantly after I adopted one dog. Life changed completely when I rescued fourteen and kept five. It wasn’t the plan, but I’m so happy with what is. Six dogs complicates life a bit. From travel to going out to having handy people over, there was some adjusting. Things run smoothly now, but there was a learning curve to knowing what works and what does not. They all bring their own personalities, preferences, and quirks to each and every day. We honor those but also maintain boundaries and rules to ensure the house, family, and pack are safe, happy, and healthy.
Today I want to talk about the adventure that is going to the vet. It used to be a simple and seamless experience. One dog. Once a year. With check ins if something was out of the norm. It was easy and as inexpensive as having a rescue dog can be.
Having six dogs… Going to the vet is an affair. When the puppies were puppies, we would load all thirteen in laundry baskets and head to the vet with Tess in tow. As they got older, we would pile them into the back seat, two at a time, until all thirteen were in. Then the same on our way into the vet’s office. Now that I have six permanent dogs instead of one, I have an entirely new process of spacing our vet trips out for two reasons:
They’re huge. I can’t imagine trying to wrangle 408 pounds of dog into the vet all at one time. It would be a nightmare. Also my car isn’t big enough. I have enough self respect and self worth to not attempt.
Money. Financially taking all the dogs to the vet at one time is extravagant.
This first year has been rough. I wouldn’t have it any other way [unless healthy dogs was an option, then I would have it that way], but it was expensive. A lot of the expense was expected, but there was a good amount that wasn’t. Tess was heartworm positive when I picked her up off the side of the road. Duke had to have dental surgery to fix his face and give him a good quality of life. Both expected expenses. Makeda ended up getting a very serious eye infection and had to have lots of tests to ensure she wouldn’t lose her eye. Good news, she’s totally fine. Duke ended up having repeated x-rays and MRIs because he has some skeletal issues. Upside, he will grow out of them, but it’s been both painful and frequent for the last ten months and will continue for eight more. Tessa had emergency surgery because she got a cut too close to her shnoot. Knight has SEVERE allergies, which did not present as allergies at first. Many tests later, it’s an easy but lifelong battle we both get to enjoy. Duke [that boy is chalk full of problems], is having mouth problems again, so back we go to the doggy oral surgeon. All of these were unexpected, but we made it work because they’re our babies. And what was I going to spend that money on anyways? Probably fancy restaurant food. I like my dogs more than fancy restaurant food. Worth it.
Knight protecting Duke from the mean, mean vet with the pokey stick of health and wellness.
I did the math. Just to cover costs of heartworm prevention, vaccines, and check ups, it costs almost $1600 a year in Houston, Texas for six dogs. In my house, yearly vet check ups are non-negotiable. I decided to spread out the check ups to two a month in the summer. Knight and Duke in June. Bear and Makeda in July. Tess and Beau in August. It makes it easier to wrangle at the vet and easier to wrangle my wallet.
Budgeting is super important when it comes to having six dogs. From food to supplements to saving for the inevitable yearly check ups to saving for the oopsies. I knew all of this when we decided to take on five more doggos. I have made budgets, plans, and adjustments in our life. I wouldn’t call the things I’ve given up “sacrifices;” they are adjustments. We adjusted. I gave up some trips and some fancy restaurants, but we have gained so, so much more by including them in our family and life. Even Beau loves having them around; I never thought I would say that.
I don’t want anyone to think this is me complaining. This is 100% me not complaining. BUT it is me being honest. Honest about the financial commitment of properly taking care of six dogs. Adopting is more than just bringing home a cute dog and feeding it and taking it potty. Like children and adults, they require training, medical check ups, vaccines, medication, and attention when things happen. Just like humans, dogs can and will get sick, have injuries, and more. Those take both time and money. So often, people think and talk about the time commitment that must be made when taking on a dog or two or six. We don’t talk about the monetary aspect of having a pack and the things that can and do come up.
Celebratory “it’s all over” puppaccinos for the very goodest boys.
I count myself lucky to take on the joys and challenges of raising six fur babies with my awesome co-parent. We share the responsibilities, financial, time, and physical, of raising and tending to them. There’s a give and take for both of us; a balance we have happily managed to find.
So if you’re contemplating adopting a dog or growing your pack and want to chat about what that means, I’m always here! I love talking about my babies and hearing from passionate dog parents.
If this isn’t your first time here, you’ve probably noticed I have anxiety. That would be because I talk about it A LOT. It’s a huge part of my life and dictates a good portion of how I live and my internal musings. Lately, anxiety has been dousing me with an extra helping or twelve, and it has really been affecting everything from sleep to productivity to mostly sleep.
Beau looking back at me… Neither of us knew where we were or where we were going.
I’ve never been a big sleeper. Part of that comes from my natural circadian rhythm: I just don’t need tons of sleep to feel peppy, focused, and productive. The other part is my eternal FOMO. I have had a fear of missing out since I was an infant, which is long before that term entered the patois. My parents will be the first to say that I would not sleep if there was even an inkling of something happening. I remember being about three years old, hopping out of bed during my nap to have a listen at the door because I wanted to know what was happening: Mom was watching a soap opera, but damnit I was not going to miss out on what was going on in Susan’s third husband’s love child’s second marriage (I just made that up, but I’m sure that’s come up at least thrice). The longer I sleep the more I miss out on: time to work, time to play, time to be awake and do nothing but at least I won’t miss anything while I’m awake doing nothing.
As much as I don’t want to sleep, I do, in fact, need it. Anxiety keeps me up more than anything else. This isn’t new. I remember being eight and having a borderline anxiety attack (although I did not have the words for it then) about growing up and having to file taxes and also decide what my major in college would be. I ONLY HAD ELEVEN YEARS TO FIGURE IT OUT. Yeah, I was a weirdo then. Nothing has changed. As an adult, my anxieties are a bit more grounded in reality, but in eight year old me’s defense, those are real things to worry about… Just maybe not at eight years old.
Three weeks ago, I was in the midst of an anxiety spiral over some very real problems. Some of which have since been solved, yay! I couldn’t stop. It started on Sunday and reached its zenith Tuesday night. I hadn’t slept much, which was fine. I was nowhere near a psychotic episode, although anxiety said differently. Tuesday night, I did not sleep a wink. Not one bit. I laid in bed, staring at the ceiling, stewing. I eventually did a bunch of reading, writing, working, and then in a desperate attempt to dumb my mind, hopped on TikTok. Beau was snuggled between my legs, content with the consistent inconsistency of her mother at nighttime.
Beau’s got this. She led the way. The way to nowhere helpful.
By 5:30 am, I had sufficiently given sleep my every effort and failed. The only failure I have been able to accept with out personal devastation. With the energy of a sleep deprived human—it’s actually quite a lot; after years of sleep deprivation, I am one of the most energetic and positive exhausted people in the history of the world—I literally skipped into my closet, put on running clothes, dressed Beau in her running gear (aka harness), woke up Dylan, let the puppies out/fed them, and ran out the door.
Exercise is one of my least favorite activities. I loathe it, but it is something I do with regularity because it is incredibly good for our bodies, brains, emotions, and overall health. COVID halted that, but I’m trying to slowly work myself back into life.
Running is at the tippy top of exercise I hate, which is exactly the reason I turn to it when I’m dealing with inordinate amounts of stress and anxiety. It takes equal parts determination and pain to start and keep going, making it the perfect mental distraction. Beau has come to look forward to times of high anxiety because she gets lots of walkies.
My neighborhood has tons of walking trails and parks. Beau isn’t the easiest dog in the world to walk. She wants to sniff all the things, chase any bird/leaf/squirrel, and zig zap like it’s an Olympic sport, but I like getting the alone time with my OG (Original Girl). She knows the drill, we head out the door straight for the walking track just down the road. We did one lap before a walk on the woodsy trail.
I decided to confuse Beau and do something different: Head onto the dirt trails deeper into the woods. The Iowa girl in me loves exploring nature. Living in Houston, there is a stark lack of hills and woods, though we have amazing parks and walking trails. My neighborhood has some unexplored woods, and this was the day to dive in.
Beau lead the way. She loves getting to zig zag without Mommy holding her back. Every fork in the path, Beau chose the direction. I was doing a good job tracking each turn… at first. For, maybe, the first two or three forks. A gazillion forks in… I was starting to think there was a potential of being lost. An hour and ten minutes into our walk-run, I decided it was time to turn around. As we made our way home, after several turns… I realized we were lost. For realsies lost. I knew where I was adjacent to my house, but getting there via trail or off trail was a completely different story.
At one point, I found a nice little, green sign nailed to a tree at one of many, many forks, denoting the paths: Rabbitt Pun and Creekside. I let Beau choose Creekside because I truly had no idea which one to take… or if we’d even seen that on our adventure in. We followed the path choosing another fork. Next thing I knew, I was back at the intersection of Rabbitt Pun and Creekside. Frustrated, I took Rabbit Pun. Obviously Beau’s career as a Sherpa in Nepal is looking quite grim. After choosing another two forks, we were ONCE AGAIN facing Rabbitt Pun and Creekside. I looked at Beau, who looked at me, who looked at the sign. My future as a Sherpa in Nepal is just as grim.
My anxiety had found a new and far more tangible outlet. We were officially lost in the woods.
In a desperate attempt to navigate homeward, I pulled up Google maps. Not helpful. It gave me directions from the nearest road. From the nearest road, it was a two and a half mile walk… According to Google we were about a mile, as the crow flies, from that road. My blue dot showed me standing in the middle of green space.
Luckily, there were beautiful scenes to see.
Off we went, once more on Rabbitt Pun. It felt like the right choice. About twenty minutes later, with no familiar physical indicator, we ran into a man and his two dogs. Beau was excited for company, and I was excited for directions.
We managed to find our way out of the woods… Nowhere near where we entered them, but out we were. What was going to be an hour walk turned into a two hour and forty-five minute walk, nine mile walk. Not at all a fast pace, but there was a lot of confused twirling in the woods.
Beau was thoroughly exhausted and over the moon with joy. I was tired and running late to work at Amanda’s shop, luckily, she didn’t care. My anxiety had found a realistic outlet. Between the utter lack of sleep and long walk, I was able to sleep later that night.
Anxiety’s a bitch. I’ve found my ways of coping with it.
Cuddling with three puppies and their mama. The others are somewhere doing something. I’m very attentive, I know.
Yesterday was National Puppy Day, and I missed it. Well, I watched everyone else post pictures about their puppies. I was lazy and didn’t.
The thing is, every day is puppy day in my house. Not only do I have four actual puppies, I have two older girls too. It’s a zoo. It’s chaos. It’s a furtacular event always. There is never a moment, big or small, that does not have something to do with the dogs. I can attribute that to their being enormous, multitudinous, and very attached to me. I go nowhere alone ever, and I love it.
Even as I write this, I have one asleep on each foot, two are upside down tug-o-warring, one is asleep in their box for naughty reasons, and a sixth is standing up on my wingback chair staring out the window in case of God knows what. That means there are five very big dogs in my small office. It’s wonderful. This is not a complaint. This is a brag. My office is better than your office.
A year ago, I had a home filled with Beau, the original rescue, Tess, the stray mama, and thirteen three week old puppies. I was determined to keep zero of the puppies. Life and a man had a completely opposing world view of what would happen, and I lost. Fast forward through the poop, tears, puppy breath, teething, potty training to today: I am a homeowner with a house full of six much bigger than expected dogs.
I would love to tell you this life is easy. It is not.
Having six dogs sounds amazing, and it is. Having six dogs sounds hard, and it is. Having six dogs sounds a little crazy, and it most certainly is. It was a choice and a commitment. It was a commitment to them and a commitment to Dylan, my pawtner in parenting. We made a commitment to each of our dogs to love, respect, raise, and maintain them until their last breaths, no take backsies. We made a commitment to one another that no matter what transpires between us, we will raise them together; we will not separate them; we will not keep them from the one another; we will share expenses; we will carry the burden; we will lean on the other when things are hard; and we will always create rules and boundaries together for them, no take backsies. Adopting one dog four years ago (wow) connected us in a more concrete way, making it more complicated if things went to go awry. Adding five more rescues to that equation… well, much, much, much more of a concrete connection. Worth it, but a challenge.
There are more than just the challenges of having six dogs. We did it in a COVID world where both our incomes and lives have been impacted very, very much. Tess was incredibly sick and pregnant when I picked her up off the street. Getting her healthy was expensive and heartbreaking. The puppies have some special needs, which makes it expensive and a bit complicated at times. (No complaint. I knew what I was getting into.) The reality is: VETS ARE EXPENSIVE. Their health is non-negotiable. We went without so they could be taken care of. We took on debt to take them to the ER. We buy their dog food first before our groceries. COVID made things much tighter, but it’s worth it.
On top of it, a rescue already existed in this home. Beau was the first priority. We made a decision to foster Tess and the puppies. We knew we wanted to keep Tess, but if the rescue in Beau couldn’t handle being in a multiple dog household, we would have made the very hard decision to find Tess and all the puppies their furever homes. Turns out Beau LOVED Tess immediately. They were inseparable and best buds from the beginning. They do everything together and literally hug every morning when they wake up. Beau also loves the puppies. It was an adjustment, but they adore her and she loves to play with them. But she still had to figure out how to be top dog, get attention, and cope with the fact she was no longer the sun, moon, and universe in two people’s worlds. She had to learn to share: time, food, love, attention, bed. Just kidding, she never learned how to share bed; she’s the only one that always sleeps in bed. Some of her neurosis were exacerbated at first, but with love, time, and extra attention, she’s back to her normal neurotic self.
Is it a breeze now? Fuck no.
It’s still hard. They’re still young. They’re still growing and learning and making mistakes and getting on each others’ nerves. Most days are amazing, but there are some days I cry. Being a dog parent to one is hard. Being a dog parent to six is still hard. Struggle is a part of taking care of and living with another being, human or not. The happiness outweighs all the negatives, but it’s work.
It. Is. A. Lot. Of. Work.
It takes a lot of work just to afford to maintain them and keep them healthy. It takes a lot of emotional work to stay calm in the chaos because I’m not going to fuck up my dogs’ emotional wellbeing with an inability to handle the fact they’re just being puppies. I do my best. Sometimes I fail. That’s okay. They love me anyways. They know they’re safe. They’re in the only home they’ve ever known with the only parents they’ve ever known being loved in the only way they’ve ever known: unconditionally, patiently, enthusiastically, and constantly.
My six dogs have been the catalyst for DRASTIC life changes over the last year, and I’m okay with that. Everything is for the better even when it has hurt like hell. They are and will be my number one priority until the day they die. I took on this responsibility, and no matter how hard it was, is, or will be, I chose to make their lives the very best I can.
If you ever find yourself in my home, know that you are watching six pieces of my heart and the very best of me walk around our home.
In honor of trying to be the very best pawrent I can be. I’m including six inspiration posters I created from things I’ve said to my dogs in my very best high pitched and happy-even-though-my-world-is-chaos-and-stressful dog parent voice:
A family picture of all thirteen babies and their two mamas at three weeks old!
Happy Birthday Siren, Vienna, Knight, Marcus, Duke, Joey, Hera, Lucy, Makeda, Sadie, Teena, Murphy, and Bear! Being your first human mama was the most rewarding challenge I have ever been crazy enough to dive into.
After bringing home a very pregnant, street dog on February 26, 2020, Tessa went into labor five days later on March 2. Which means, a year ago, thirteen puppies were born in an epically long labor that lasted 38.5 hours with seventeen hours and one minute between the first and last born. Every single one of the thirteen is healthy, happy, and living their best life today.
What a year it has been.
I was a bit protective of my babies. I didn’t want them to go to their furever homes ever, but that was not an option—I couldn’t afford fifteen dogs, nor did I have the space. I sent them to their wonderful furever homes at three months old because I was able to ensure they were vaccinated, were well socialized, avoided the critical time when they could develop neurosis and fears, learned ample skills from their mama, and I was able to catch and solve some health issues. Puppies are adorable, and I loved every single second of my time with them, but those first three months was a massive struggle in every way. I look back and wonder how I did it. The answer: love and support from my closest friends and family. Neither I nor the puppies would have made it through without those heroes in our lives. Having thirteen puppies and a brand new mama dog was taxing in more ways than I can even describe, but I won’t even try because this is a birthday celebration.
What was even harder than getting through those three months: Watching them go to their new homes. I felt so empty when they were gone. (Even though I still had four puppies, Tessa, and Beau, pieces of my heart were missing.) Knowing each puppy was in the very best home for them made it much easier to say goodbye. Every single parent sends me updates, so I have gotten to watch them grow, becoming more themselves in the comfort of a loving home. I was the puppy matchmaker; I gave the puppy to the perfect home for them and a puppy suited to the home each family could provide. Some of the puppy parents have become good friends or were already good friends. Several have stayed for a night or a few when their parents go on vacation or work trips. Puppy play dates happen. They may not be my babies anymore, but they are still in my life. I am so blessed to have found so many wonderful homes for my amazing puppies.
From left top clockwise: Knight, Duke, Makeda, and Bear. The four babies who are mine forever.
Every day, all day for three months, I was surrounded by thirteen puppies and Tessa. Three months is a short amount of time, but it is a lifetime when you’re watching beings evolve and grow and become themselves. Each one had a unique personality from the moment they were born. Being around them brought me so much joy and filled my heart with love. I was so completely in love with each one. It was impossible to name a favorite, and to this day, the ones I kept are here because a) I wanted to make sure they received the medical care they needed b) their personalities were best suited to Beau and Tessa. I didn’t keep my favorite puppies because I didn’t have any. They were all perfect and still are.
The fact it has been one year since they were born… Is shocking. Where has the time gone? I have watched my four grow into these amazing dogs with huge, unique personalities and needs. Life has been busy and complicated and stressful at times, but I wouldn’t trade anything in the world for my dogs. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for my four puppies and the nine others. My heart is theirs. For now and forever.
A year ago, I was given a beautiful opportunity to give fourteen dogs a chance at life, and they are making the most of those lives every day.
Before they went to their furever homes, I took pictures with each of them. They gave me hope and happiness during an incredibly difficult pandemic. There’s no way I wouldn’t remember each one, but I wanted something beautiful to look at as the years fade the memories. I want to share them with you and a little bit about each one.
Siren, the first born.
Siren was born on March 3, 2020 at 3:45 pm, weighing 8.75 ounces. He was adorable and such a sweetheart. He loved to howl and let out an incredibly high pitched noise anytime he wasn’t playing. Rough housing was his favorite activity but I could always count on big kisses from him. He kept his name Siren and lives in Houston.
(March) Vienna gave the best kisses!
March was born on March 3, 2020 at 4:50 pm, weighing 11.3 ounces. Named for the March sisters in Little Women. She has a goofy dew claw with two nails. She was always up to play but never dove right into the middle of the pack. Cuddling was just as much appreciated as play. Her daddy claimed her right away and named her Vienna—after the sausages because they looked like fuzzy, brown sausages. She lives in Cedar Rapids, Iowa.
Lucky enough to call Knight mine forever.
Knight was born on March 3, 2020 at 5:35 pm, weighing the least at 7.5 ounces. He gave me so much anxiety from the start because he was so little and refused to gain weight. Sass has never been something he lacks. He still suffers from little man syndrome and hates being pushed around even though he is the second biggest in my house and in the litter. I kept him because we bonded over the ten daily feedings we had, his autoimmune disorder, and his deformed front legs. He still has the name Knight, but I pronounce it phonetically, to his father’s dismay. K-Nig-Hit is cuddly beyond belief.
(Hardy) Marcus has been using his soulful eyes since day one.
Hardy was born on March 3, 2020 at 7:15 pm, weighing 7.62 ounces. Named for one of my favorite authors, Thomas Hardy. I’ve never seen such soulful eyes, and he uses them often on his dad. He was equal parts rowdy and lazy. He was always one of the first to curl up in my lap or behind my back. He always had such long legs; there’s no doubt he could be a supermodel. Instead he’s assumed the name Marcus (as in Aurelius) and lives in the lap of luxury in Houston with his dad. Doggy daycare is his jam.
Derpy Duke was never meant to stay, but stay he did, and I couldn’t be happier.
Duke was born March 3, 2020 at 9:00pm, weighing 9.21 ounces. He was a big derpy goofball from the moment he was born. Chewing has been his favorite thing since they got teething toys at two weeks old. To this day, he has a toy or shoe (yikes) in his mouth. If there is a free lap or hand he will claim it. If there’s no free lap or hand, he will still claim it. At eight months old, he had dental surgery to correct his severe overbite, which gives him the derpiest smile on earth. He’s my forever baby. It was a happy accident.
(Nosky) Joey was an adorably cuddly handful.
Nosky was born on March 3, 2020 at 9:05 pm, weighing 8.57 ounces. He has four white paws, so I named him “socks” in Russian. He had, and still does, a predilection for starting squabbles. He loved to antagonize and then walk away. It was irritating and funny; I’m certain he enjoyed his practical jokes. I was incredibly stressed out at eight weeks because he developed a joint problem, luckily his forever mama is on top of it. He’s living the best life and is incredibly spoiled. He is now named after Joey from friends and lives in Pearland, Texas.
Hera’s looking away from the camera as I get kisses from her forever sister!
Hera was born on March 3, 2020 at 9:55 pm, weighing 10.12 ounces. She was the first to crawl into a lap. She could never get enough of those cuddles, although she was happy to get her play on whenever a tussle started. She was quiet, sweet, and an all around easy puppy. Today, she still goes by Hera and lives in Ames, Iowa with my parents, so she’s got a pretty cushy life with her sister, Teena and brother, Barney.
(Boudica) Lucy has the cutest dots on her nose!
Boudica was born on March 3, 2020 at 11:13 pm, weighing 10.2 ounces. Named for Boudica the 60 ad Iceni queen. From the very start, she didn’t live up to the warrior queen she was named for. She stayed far away from any romp, preferring cuddles to literally anything else. She was skittish and shy, which only made me love her more. With adorable dots on her nose, she is gorgeous, perfect, and ridiculously easy to take a nap with. Her new name is Lucy, and she lives with her feline sister, Juniper, in Lincoln, Nebraska.
(Star) Makeda is still joy incarnate.
Star was born on March 4, 2020 at 12:10 am, weighing 9.63 ounces. She was hoppy, happy, and ready to love on anyone from the moment she was born. It became evident very early on that we would keep her because she had enough energy to keep up with Beau. I started referring to her as “Joy Incarnate” at three weeks old because she always has been. I renamed her because I wanted a more unique name, so she’s gone by Makeda—an Ethiopian warrior queen—since she was three weeks old. She’s shy yet rambunctious, playful yet cuddly, happy yet reserved. She’s a dichotomy, and I fall in love with her more every day.
(Lily-May) Sadie has resting sad face.
Lily-May was born on March 4, 2020 at 1: 20 am, weighing 10.48 ounces. Named for Lily Bart in House of Mirth and May Whelan in The Age of Innocence both by Edith Wharton. Shy yet ridiculously lovable, she was always excited about everything once she felt safe. It was impossible to stay away from her because she followed me everywhere any chance she got. Today, she goes by Sadie and lives in Houston with her rescue dog brother, Cooper.
It’s (Athena) Teena’s turn to look-ish at the camera.
Athena was born on March 4, 2020 at 5:20 am, weighing 10.26 ounces. She was sweet but always a little funny. She wanted to cuddle but not that much. She wanted to play but not too much. She was curious but super cautious. She would frighten incredibly easily. She had such a soft coat, I loved burying my face in her neck and covering her with kisses. My dad has a knack for giving funny nicknames. He started calling her Teena, and it stuck. Today, she lives with my parents in Ames, Iowa with her sister, Hera, and their rescue dog Barney.
I never knew what (Oryol) Murphy’s ears would do from one day to the next.
Oryol was born on March 4, 2020 at 6:08 am, weighing 11.99 ounces. Named after Ivan Turgenev’s hometown in Russia. He was a chonk from the start and all about the cuddles. I was obsessed with his ears; they never knew what they were doing and changed day to day. He was so laid back that he earned the nickname “Stoner Puppy.” He loved playing, cuddles, and diving face first into food: the messier the better. He hated bathtime, though. For such a lazy puppy, he popped right to life the moment I tried to bathe him. I hope for his mama’s sake, he’s gotten better with age on that front. He lives in Houston, Texas with his mom and goes by the name Murphy.
Bear is much, much, much bigger now.
Bear was born on March 4, 2020 at 8:46 am, weighing 12.1 ounces. Last but definitely not least, Bear is unforgettable. He was the last, the largest, and the most headstrong of the bunch. Where there was a will, Bear would find his way. He was a cuddly challenge from day one, but he’s impossible not to love even when he was causing me a great deal of frustration. His dad fell in love with him, and he ended up staying in my personal pack. I wish I could say he’s gotten easier, but all I can say is: he’s gotten bigger! He lived up to the name Bear and weighs about 100 pounds with the biggest head he could muster. Luckily, he’s more lovable than he is frustrating.
Happy Birthday my babies! I can’t believe you’re all a year old. I can’t believe I survived. I really can’t believe I’m the mama to four of you. To my other nine babies: I miss you all every single day, think of you often, scroll through the thousands of pictures I took, and talk about you endlessly. I am beyond lucky to have watched you grow into the puppies you were, and I am even more blessed to be able to watch you all grow into the dogs you are becoming. One year down forever to go!
bisous und обьятий, RaeAnna (Your First Human Mama)
Celebrating Tess’ Gotcha Day with a cookie and her sister. I’m embracing the chaos of my life as it is without trying to make it beautiful for Instagram or the blog. Having six dogs, four under a year, is messy, and I’m okay with that.
A year ago last Friday, I was headed to an event in Houston. Dressed up in heels and a skirt, I stopped traffic to herd a very pregnant dog to the side of the road. Ignoring the honking and middle fingers, I persuaded this sad, scared looking dog into the back of my car. I had no idea what the hell I was going to do with her or what I was going to tell Dylan, but in my soul, I knew she was mine. A vet trip, Amazon shopping, several pet store runs, and six days later, Tessa had a name, a home, and thirteen healthy puppies. And I was embarking on the longest year of my life.
Today, Tessa is a 35 pound ball of energy, cuddles, and love. She may be the smallest being in the house—except for the bugs Texas insists upon—but she refuses to get lost in the fray or be pushed around. She was a good dog from the moment I gently plopped her in my backseat, but she has come so far. She’s healthy, happy, and goofy. She is obsessed with her sister, Beau. Intermittent wrestling with her four ginormous babies on her very specific terms between sun-naps and mama-snuggles is how she likes to spend her days. She’s sproingy and gentle. I could go on forever about how fabulous she is, but y’all would get bored, and I would never finish writing this because I would have to take many breaks to give her gratitude kisses.
I cannot imagine my life pre-Tessa. That’s 100% a lie. I can absolutely imagine my life pre-Tessa. It was not lacking for anything, but my life is more complete because of her.
A year and a week ago, I would have never been able to picture the way my life looks today. I wouldn’t be surprised because this past year is exactly something I could have seen myself doing, but I would not have planned it. I learned so much about myself from and because of Tessa. I learned my heart has no shortage of love to give and I am able to willingly give up everything I can for those I love and those who need me. I learned to draw boundaries and stand up for myself. I learned to take and ask for help. I am a better person because I stopped traffic for a desperate dog. I am a more tired person because I decided to keep that desperate dog. I am a happier, more blessed person because I embraced the challenges of keeping that desperate dog and four of her babies.
They sure enjoyed that!
Tess changed my life in far more than eleven ways. Without a doubt in my mind, she changed my life in ways I have yet to grasp. She is a blessing and a challenge. But she is mine, and I am hers.
Financially—Oh goodness… I haven’t done the exact math on the amount of money that has been spent because Tessa found her forever home in my home. The least I can say is, bye-bye savings! Hello, debt. I made responsible choices, but the financial impact of taking on a heartworm positive, massively pregnant street dog was not small. Between her health and making sure the puppies were alive, healthy, and thriving, I will be feeling it for a good long while. I say this without complaint. But it is definitely a big life change that cannot go unnoted. I don’t think people realize the financial commitment it is to take on a street dog, let alone a pregnant one. She and the puppies—those I kept and those I did not—are worth every penny spent, knowing they are happy, healthy, and forever loved.
Worry—The amount I worried about Tessa while she was pregnant, while she was momming, and during her heartworm treatments has been all-consuming. I worry about her and her babies constantly. It’s the mama in me, I know. I just want them to be safe.
Sleep… What is that?—I think I am still catching up on all the sleep I lost while I was taking care of the puppies. Tessa had thirteen puppies and eight lactating nipples. Even after the puppies were weaned, they did not sleep through the night. It took months to get them into a rhythm. Even now, they are early birds… I am not. It’s a process.
Home Ownership—Buying a home was a process we had already started when I picked Tess up. Having her expedited the whole experience and dictated the houses we were looking at. Bigger became better in both square footage and yard size. I love my home, but it’s not the one I would have picked if I were still a one dog mom.
Taking Breaks—2020 would have been a taxing year without raising a pack. It felt like the emotional and psychological Olympics. I all but signed off of social media, blogging, and doing everything but the bare minimum in my social, work, and personal life. I did not and still do not have the emotional bandwidth to take on a lot. As a perfectionist managing my workaholism, having to settle for done and not working has been hard. I have finally been able to accept the fact that all the dogs are alive and healthy can be enough. That taking breaks from life (outside of responsibilities) is acceptable and necessary and sometimes even the healthiest thing to do. I will get back to being my Type A, workaholic self, but until I can, I’m not going to beat myself up about it.
Waking Up—I hate waking up. Tessa does not love lounging in bed past eight without getting up for breakfast and a potty break. Her preferred method of waking me up is by howling if she’s in her box or pouncing straight on my face if she’s sleeping in bed. Neither of which are my preferred method of waking up, so it’s an ongoing adjustment.
Cleaning—Cleaning has never been my favorite activity, but I am a neat freak. There’s a lot of letting go that happens when you have six dogs. Cleaning has not been one of them. Things are messier than they used to be, but I do not want my house to smell like dog. So I clean. I clean often.
Pack Discount—I have so many dogs, I get a pack discount at the vet. It’s something, and I’ll take it.
Embracing The Casual—I am a casual person, but casual is not my style. I love to look great, and I love having a house that looks pristine. Ha! Ha ha ha ha ha! I have six dogs now, so casual has become the de facto. I live in sweatpants and tshirts. I have accepted my legs and arms will be covered in scratches from Tessa’s playful and attention seeking sproings. I sadly cover my beautiful couch with blankets so it will last. I have begrudgingly accepted the casualness of my new life.
Pants—Speaking of sweatpants… I never wore pants around the house until Tessa and the puppies. She loves to jump around and throw her paws. Little she may be; gentle she is not. To protect myself, I have made the ultimate sacrifice. Every morning as I get out of bed, with sadness in my heart, I submit to leg prisons. This is the meaning of a mother’s love.
Love—The first night Tessa was in the house. I lay in bed listening to her breath. I was distraught with worry. I didn’t know if I could love another dog as much as I loved Beau. I was terrified Beau would feel less loved. I did not know if I had enough love to give Tessa and the puppies. I was an idiot. Love has been just about the only thing I have enough of. Love for them has given me the strength to lean on people, ask for help, accept my limitations, stand up for myself, set boundaries, and know when to say enough. As much as I love them, they have given it all back to me and so much more. Beau, Tess, Knight, Duke, Makeda, and Bear love me intensely. I have never felt more whole, more loved, more secure in the world than I do today. Tessa has changed so much of my life. So much of those changes have been challenging and heartbreaking, but it is completely worth it because of the love she and they give me every minute of every day. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for them.
It’s hard to fathom a year has gone by. Feeling simultaneously short and long, I had no idea what was coming at me 366 (leap year) days ago. The moment Dylan and I decided to keep Tess and take on the challenge of raising puppies and finding them homes, I knew it would be an adventure. Oh boy, has it been an adventure. The adventure of my life. Tess was a life altering decision. One that I made without really thinking about it. All I knew was I had to save that desperate dog from being hit by a car. Here we are.
