She came to us as a ball of energy that couldn't be contained by her previous owners. They were done and, well, my husband had a black lab when he was a kid. Need I say more?
It didn't matter that we already had three large dogs. And it didn't matter that she jumped up more than she stayed down. She was sweet and loving and, did I mention, named after Alabama Football Coach Nick Saban.
Nikki was originally adopted with the best of intentions. Someone offered a free puppy to a lonely man with health issues. Then she grew. He wasn't able to keep up, much less teach her obedience. She needed room to run and play and just be a puppy.
I almost took her back that first week. She jerked on the leash, jumped on us with the full force of youth, and tore up yet another dog bed. I was just too old for this, I told myself. But sometimes she was just so cute -- like when she held her "pacifier" with her paws to lick the peanut butter flavored treat from it.
Our three older dogs all came from kill shelters. Sammy was a stray, Abby was from a litter of lab-mix puppies, and Fendley an owner surrender who was about to be put down. I led with my heart and made it work. Nikki fit that path. Though she came from a home, she was leaving that home whether she came to me or not.
So often, that's how it works. People adopt a cute puppy with the best of intentions and then that puppy begins to resemble a dog. There's no time for it. The dog is destructive (think of a toddler) and the people wish someone would step up with a "better" home. That's one reason the animal shelters are overcrowded.
Nikki is a permanent part of our family. She sports a pink collar and has learned to help me paint. She watches every move I make. I expect her to pick up a paint brush one day and take over. In the meantime, she gets lots of exercise and love and not nearly as many treats as she wants. She plays with her siblings and lives a happy life. We are blessed to call her ours.
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