My son is actually my second baby. My first is my dog, Sam. I could start another blog based solely on his antics, but for now, I just wanted to share his adoption story. I picked him up the day after Thanksgiving in 2009. I had just bought my first home all on my own and felt accomplished, but extremely alone. Nights were particularly miserable. I had always had a dog growing up, but for the last 7 years, I’d been living in dorms and apartments and greatly missed having a furry companion. For fun, I began to search online, looking for a small-medium sized dog. Then I found him. He had the sweetest, most pathetic face, and an adorably awkward, gangly body.

I fell in love. There wasn’t much of a description for him, just that he was fixed, possibly house trained and part St. Bernard. Not exactly the small-medium sized dog I was looking to share my tiny house with, but I felt drawn to him.

I recruited my mom to come to the shelter with me, reasoning that she would be able to talk me out of this crazy idea. No such luck. We walked into the shelter and their three-legged dog mascot came up to greet us. My mother promptly burst into tears and continued to sob as we wandered past all of the caged animals. I was unusually calm through the cacophony of barks, whines and rattling cages. Every dog we passed barked enthusiastically, jumping up and down, demanding my attention. Then I saw Sam. He regarded me with a quiet curiosity, gently approaching the front of his cage. He didn’t wag his tail or try too hard, but his eyes were full of hope. I walked away from his cage and watched him sadly return to the back wall, following me with his eyes. I came back and he again moved forward. We repeated the dance a couple more times and I put my hand up to the front of the cage. His paw met mine and I felt my heart melt. I asked to take him for a walk and led him out to the field behind the shelter.

He took this act as good faith and expressed his joy by jumping onto my chest, slathering me in kisses and mud. I tried to walk him, but he only had eyes for me and kept tripping over himself. I knew we were meant to be. So even though I had absolutely nothing prepared to bring home a dog, I packed him up in my car, marveling at the way he immediately settled in. He was filthy, covered in fleas, worms and matted fur, but he was undoubtedly mine. We gave him a bath, bought him some supplies and sat on my parents’ front porch, wondering what to call him. He went three days as “Dog” before I finally tried “Sam” out loud and saw his ears perk. Sam it was.