Without my knowing it, my life changed dramatically 11 years ago today. I didn't know it at the time but that was the day my Ozzie was born.
June 22 was also my grandparents' wedding anniversary. (If they were alive today, they'd mark their 70th anniversary.) June 22 is also the date that Tigger appeared in the yard.
After putting our first Yorkie down, I was adamant against getting another dog. I had never had to make that kind of decision, much less be present for it, and I knew I never wanted to do it again. One way to make sure. Just don't get another dog.
But mom talked me into "looking" at puppies the week after Scruffy's death in September 1997. And that led to Ozzie. When I saw him, he was cute. When I spoke to him, he kissed my face -- and melted my heart. When I saw his birthdate, it was karmic intervention. He immediately became a member of the family.
As I type this, there's a furry little being at my hip. He's content right now, having had a little bit of a breakfast sandwich as a special treat. (He got to go on the trip to get it, and of course, the girls at Burger King fawned over him.) Later on, he'll get a super noisy vinyl toy, beat the crap out of it, and probably break the squeaker. It seems a pretty small price to pay for nearly 11 years of laughs, companionship, and a whole lot of love.
I know I can't keep him forever, but I plan to savor every minute of it that I can. Happy birthday, little guy. Thanks for everything you've given me.
