Thief of Hearts

She’s worn out from bouncing in the snow, so I’ll take advantage of the peace and quiet to catch you up.

It started last Saturday night, when LuAnn showed me a photo of a darling corgi pup on her iPhone. Her boss’s dogs–real working cattle-herding corgis–had a single puppy, but they cannot add one more dog to their farm right now. So they were about ready to list the puppy for sale. And LuAnn was perfectly serious, when she said that she thought we ought to take it. This is the photo from LuAnn’s phone.

I spent the next 36 hours playing the yes-no-yes-no-yes-no game in my head. On Sunday night, I couldn’t fall asleep. What if this was meant to be, and there’s a reason LuAnn told me about this puppy? There’d been signs, too. I learned that corgis are descended from schipperkes. And Queen Elizabeth was in the news on Sunday, because she was in the hospital. So I made a deal with myself: If I dreamt about the puppy AND named her in my dream, it would be a sign that I should have her.

At 3:00 in the morning, I woke up, went downstairs, and wrote this note to myself.

I went to work on Monday, all twitterpated. I didn’t know what to do. When Chris asked me how I’d feel if someone else took the puppy, that did it. I called Bill, who called Dave, who called LuAnn, who spoke to her boss. And so the puppy would be mine! To tease me, LuAnn sent this photo of the puppy in her family’s mudroom.

During the week, we had some fun at PetSmart.

We could have saved a few bucks, because these are her toys of choice.

And these, which are now safe in the hall closet.

I took her into my arms on Friday afternoon. Yesterday, she rode home in my lap, from the lake house to Chicago. We are bonding, mostly over my ankles and toes. I say OUCH and she says ROUGH.

We call her Pixie, but her Official Name is Pickpocket, because she stole my heart.