Soft bellied and hard headed, The McGee has snarfled and snorted her way into this small family.
You see, she wasn't supposed to be our dog. There was someone else. A puppy with less baggage who I followed from one shelter to another in hopes that she would be my girl. A little bulldog baby who would have been named Frannie. But she had other suitors who were faster than me. I was beaten to the punch. And who can really feel sorry for that? A shelter dog with many options. What a fortunate thing. I think they named her Annie...
So, I decided to peruse the other options available to me that day. I saw Fr/Annie leave the shelter with her new dad and, feeling slightly sad and, let's be honest, a little impulsive, I headed down the row of dogs to see who else might be available. Sucker.
And she was there. Throwing herself upwards and outwards at the kennel door. Crazy faced and giddy with excitement at the idea of getting out and then, once released into the semi-freedom of an outdoor play area, aloof and butt-plunked in a homemade dirt hole underneath a bench without much indication that she'd like to be my friend.
And here we are. One point five years later: me type tapping on my computer keys while The McGee snores her best and loudest snores on the floor next to me. She is wrapped in MY favorite blanket which she somehow adopted after we adopted her. I'm pretty sure she loves my husband more than me. It doesn't really bother me. Not too much.
She is The McGee. The sounds she makes as she sleeps are so human that I can almost imagine they are coming from my dad, asleep in his armchair, remote slowly drifting out of his hand.
But no. I look to my right and there she is. Small and sleek. When she curls up so tight and packs all her chub together, she resembles a sleeping baby hippo dragon pig. I wonder where she hides her folded wings and watch for smoke emitting from her vibrating nostrils.
She is the best dog in my world.
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