Two Years Happier

Just over two years ago, Tom and I were in Chauncey, Georgia, population just under three-hundred.

“That one,” Tom said, pointing at a tri-color terrier that sat peering out from underneath a table. He had the biggest brown eyes and floppy tan-lined ears that looked like cookies. The lady bent down to retrieve the puppy, but he scuttled farther under the table so she couldn’t reach him. “This ones got a mind of his own,” she said, forcing a smile.

“Tom...don’t you think we should maybe get one of the friendlier ones?” I whispered as one of the other puppies showered me with kisses.

“No. I want that one.”

Tom was persistent. So was the chubby puppy with the big brown eyes. It took all three of us to catch him that day.

Two pairs of shoes ruined. Two holes chewed in the wall. Two weeks of eating Spam sandwiches just to afford the vet bills. Two-hundred squeaky toys. Two big, brown eyes. Two years happier.