There are many moments in my life that I view differently - especially as I have aged, and changed, and grown; but this is one of the closest to my heart.
This is the story of learning how to foster 11 dogs at the same time, of learning how to care for puppies, and of becoming someone I didn't know existed within myself.
Imagine being so warm - so cared for and given everything you could ever want. Imagine being unable to hear, to see, your only sense the sense of smell and the surrounding of your mother.
You don't know it yet, but death is on its way, little ones. You don't know it, but it will never reach you. The smell of a new place is all that exists for a few hours, the sour stink of fear suffocating the usual scent of milk and your mother. But why would she be afraid? Should you be afraid?
You whine and cry for the five-hour drive, your mother unable to pace, so she sits and pants, but you cannot hear it. Finally, whatever pulsing beast carries you stops, mutters, crouches down and huddles into a quiet oblivion. There is a different smell then, still with your mother, but she is no longer filled with fear. Instead, there's something of comfort.
Something new, something softer than the unforgiving plastic of your old kennel. It's warmer, and sometimes large hands come to hold you and caress your tiny body.
Slowly, your eyes and ears begin to open.
Did you know the first thing you would see would be my face?
I don't think you did; but it was, and I smelled like hope and love and sweet, sweet joy.
And your first barks! Little squeaks that wouldn't frighten a leaf, but they were everything to me. You chewed and played and made messes and fell asleep in my arms.
And now look at you! Look at you run across the yard, chew on your siblings. Making trouble, but sleeping in my bed at night. Your mother was adopted long ago, but I don't think you miss her.
When we first started fostering you, I didn't quite realize that I'd love you so much. We were only meant to have you for two weeks!
I did not know I would get the chance to know you as I did. To hug you and kiss you and cry a little as you went to new homes, knowing that in some small part, I brought you into the world; kept you and your mother alive.
Is that foolish? Probably. But all I know anymore, if I lost both my sight and hearing, is that you smell like comfort, and home, and maybe just a little like my own children.