Owned
I’m owned. Completely and utterly owned. By something that is less than 10lbs. Last weekend, we adopted a small, scruffy snaggletoothed puppy named Theo. His hair covers his eyes and he often finds himself falling over things as he has not yet mastered the basics of speed or agility. Still I am owned.
It started the first night we had him home. This little whimpering, barking, crying baby that was thrust into our lives. It was every two hours that we would here the whimpering and the crying. We were the “cruel” parents who assigned him to his crate for the evening in an act of puppy rearing.
It was about 3AM and my husband lopped his arm over to an empty spot that had been filled with our two other fur children (our cats) Max and Isa. Their approach was “Mom” was out of the bed, so it was up for grabs. He fumbled through the bedroom, down the stairs and looked around-still no sign of me.
Finally he realized that the puppy had stopped crying, and walked into our room. And lo and behold, before his eyes was me holding a shaggy snaggletoothed puppy as he slept. Theo had claimed victory against his crate and me. Theo has now owned me.
But when does one fall in love? When does one realize that this puppy owns them? Is it in their eyes? The moment we take him home? I’m not sure exactly when that moment occurred. I just know that he relies so much so on hearing my heartbeat that I let him sleep on me for two nights in a row.
In the week we have been Theo’s “parents”, we have realized a couple things. My husband is incredible with logic and observation. He quickly calms my fears and reasons things while I panic about anything—even the slightest snorkel in his voice. I learned I am a complete pushover and panicky mom to every sound.
We are completely and utterly in love with a little snaggletoothed grin, our baby boy, Theo. Our first attempting at “parenting.”





