I have been meaning to blog. So much has been changing in my life, and I'll never remember it all. Since my last post, I've started teaching, had a rock-star 2 years, was diagnosed with ADHD, bullied out of my job, just about hit rock bottom emotionally, and have been slowly building myself back up.
The ADHD is tough, and so I have started an experiment with myself. It's based on what I do with my students, whom also needed a little extra motivation. So far it has been helpful.
Anyway, I am currently working in my dream-district and hoping to be teaching there next year. I love my job and I'm so happy to be back in a positive work environment. Looking back over my experiences, I have to say that 3/4 districts I've worked in have been dysfunctional for one reason or another. It's truly scary. But more on that later.
My family has two dogs. It's weird to think of because I can still remember a time in my life where I wanted ONE dog so desperately, and when I got him he was a handful. Even though I wanted more, I never actually pictured having two of them. One had been a handful, though, and as loving and intelligent as our dog was, he was sure a pain in the ass! He would do whatever he wanted, constantly get into trouble --eating candy or whatever he could sniff out-- run away after deer for hours at a time, listen selectively, and he was occasionally difficult/aggressive with other dogs.
After my first dog, Lucky, died at age 14, my mother swore we would never get another dog. About a year or two later, I started having an itch to get another. I'll admit that I'd been a bad dog owner before, and that was partially due to being young and ignorant. I'll even admit that my cousin, whom I now haven't spoken to in years, was a big factor in my decision to get another dog. I watched him raise his police dog, Marco, and I learned so much about dogs in doing so. I didn't just want another dog, I wanted an amazing dog. One that could do tricks, be taken places without stress, one that wouldn't run away, and--most importantly--one that would listen.
Flash forward to me and my sister waking up at 6AM and driving over to Lewiston in our old Saturn, with no heat, on a cold winter morning to be first in line at the Androscoggin Humane Society. There was this adorable little puppy up for adoption. I was going to call her Pheobe, and she was going to be amazing.
After waiting in the freezing car (our heater didn't/still doesn't) work, we were first in line. Unfortunately, the lady who gave out the tickets that morning gave us ticket #2. They'd given the first ticket to another lady, who'd curiously looked in the window and pointed to a staffer--now I know she was pointing to one of her friends. They'd had an inside connection, and they stole the puppy I wanted right from under my nose. Something I'll never forgive any of them for.
We left without a puppy, devastated.
Then maybe a month later, we found a website--Molly's Moments. They were a rescue organization that was saving a litter of Australian Shepherds-mix puppies from South Carolina. I fell in love with a little boy named Jensen, but his adoption was already pending. So I wanted a beautiful tri-girl named Julia, I think. She was also pending adoption. My third choice was a tie--There were two pups left--one Jessa and one Jenna. They were both cute, and the only notable difference between their doberman coloring was that Jessa had more brown on her face, and Jenna had more black.
After much deliberation, I put in a request to adopt Jessa.
The original transport fell through because they puppies tested positive for a parasite, and so about a month went by before they were deemed healthy enough to make the huge trip. My sister and I volunteered to assist with the last leg of the transport. As we were waiting in Portland, we received news that one of the girls had to stay behind because she was ill. We spent about 2 hours fearing it was Jessa not arriving that night, and when we were assured Jessa was still on her way, we spent a whole week worrying if there had been some mixup.
The puppies arrived in Portland, and we loaded them into my mom's Ford Explorer. They were scared, and I really wish we had taken more time to admire them, but they were loaded in and we were on our way to Bryant Pond, to deliver them. Out-of-state rescue dogs must undergo a week of quarantine when they arrive in Maine, so that was truly agonizing. I remember when we arrived at the shelter, the woman's son picked up Pria and put her in my arms. I never wanted to let her go. She was so tiny, with long legs and a beautiful coat. It was so late that we didn't want to keep the woman up late, so we left rather quickly, but not before snapping a few shots with our cell phones-- I wish we had taken more.
All week, I kept waiting for a call: "Amanda? Sorry, there was a mixup and Jessa didn't make it up. Your puppy will be here ____ and after a week you can pick her up?"
That call never came. If memory serves, we were supposed to pick her up on the 8th of March. It was a Saturday. Something happened, though, and if we didn't get her sooner, we wouldn't be able to get her until later, so the woman agreed to meet me at Food City after work on Friday, the 7th. I was so excited I asked my boss if I could leave early (this was back when she liked me) and went to get my puppy. This was another time I wish I'd savored the moment more, but I was bursting with new-mom jitters that I didn't. She also didn't come with a collar, so Heather showed me how to use a leash as a make-shift harness and I was so worried about the traffic on 302 that I quickly put her in the crate in the back of my mom's truck. I was determined to do right by her, and that meant crate training.
I was so full of new-mom jitters, that I'd forgotten to tell my mom and sister that I was picking her up an hour earlier than planned. As I was driving home with a traumatized, crying puppy, they were on their way to meet us. When my mother called to see where we were, and heard the puppy crying in the back, she internally cringed, and later shared that cringe with me repeatedly. "What did I say yes to?" she'd admit. She thought this puppy would be obnoxious and horrible.
I got home and took a quick selfie with her outside of the car before bringing her inside.We'd set up a small area in the kitchen for her and put on her beautiful collar that my mom had bought her at the Goodwill--black leather with colorful glass beads. She was perfect.
It took my mother a whole hour to say, "I love you" which I still tease her about today. And even though I can still remember the exact moment (and location I was at when) I picked the name, Pria, my mother spent a year trying to get me to change it to Breeya.
That is the story of how I got the most incredible puppy ever.
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