Updated: Nov 9, 2020
I cannot think of a better post to begin with than one that focuses on the first puppy I owned as an adult. When I was 20, Brian, my soon-to-be husband (who I have now been married to for 17 years), decided he was going to purchase a puppy for me. I was living alone in Norman, Oklahoma at the time attending college and desperately missing my family dog, Peanut, who was back home with my parents in Chicago, Illinois. My parents did not support me having a puppy as they were concerned I would not be able to handle the responsibilities of a puppy while attending college. Brian, who has always been a pretty straight forward guy, said "well, they cannot tell me that I cannot have a puppy" and proceeded to find the perfect puppy for me. So, thanks to my husband, we were blessed with a beautiful Black and Tan Dachshund who we named Daisy May.
Daisy May was the foundation of our relationship, and I often joke that she raised us because she watched us get married, graduate from college, finish graduate school, start our first jobs, get promoted, change careers, and make a ton of good and bad decisions throughout our 20s and 30s. Her loyalty to us was unwavering, and her love was limitless. She moved with us a dozen times, comforted us when we were sad, consistently demanded I share my hamburger with her, and tolerated other puppies or shelter cats that I brought home to live with us.