Two ridiculously cute shih tzu puppies wrestled and played while I asked myself the same question I’d pondered many times before. Why do I put myself through this? I scooped up a sweet little fluff ball, snuggled her against my cheek and snapped a selfie. Then I texted my husband at work, adding one simple word: “Please?”
This wasn’t the first time I’d sent him a random photo of a dog from a pet store. Unfortunately, his response had always been the same. “NO.”
Don’t get me wrong. Curt is a good husband with many wonderful qualities. He’s just not an animal lover. The poor guy has never owned a dog. He’s allergic to cats. On the other hand, I am a farmer’s daughter who grew up surrounded by cats, dogs, horses, rabbits and all other creatures great and small.
I had learned to overlook my husband’s little flaw. However, our three daughters had not. From the moment they learned how to spell the word “dog,” it appeared at the top of every birthday and Christmas list. Once on our grocery list. Over the years we got our puppy-fix at Grandma’s house and pet stores.
My phone buzzed with a text from Curt.
It’s your decision.
Wait. What did he say? Surely, I’d misunderstood. A PUPPY was my decision? I couldn’t think straight. I called his number in need of clarification. He answered his phone on the first ring.
“Are you serious?” I shrieked into the phone.
“It’s your decision.” His monotone response deflated my excitement a bit.
After I took a few minutes to confirm–and reconfirm–that he was indeed serious, I stuffed my phone into my pocket and hustled back to the puppies before he changed his mind. Which one should I choose?
The black puppy, a lively little spitfire, romped and rolled until she tackled and chewed on her sister’s foot. The other puppy paid little attention to her sassy sister’s antics. She was white and tan with black patches accenting her adorable little smushed-up face. She reminded me of chocolate chip cookie dough—only twice as sweet. How in the world would I ever choose? I had to run home and get my girls.
I made a mad dash home and back, all the while praying at least one puppy would still be there when I returned. The girls were beyond excited, but they were no help.
“Can’t we get both?” My daughter bounced a squeaky pink ball towards the two roly-poly puppies who ambled after it. “I hate to leave the other one here.”
“No way.” I said. If God was gracious enough to give us this miracle, we’d better not ask for another.
In the end, I chose the cookie-dough dog. We filled out the paperwork and bought the necessities. As we carried her out the door, another lady bought her sister.
On the way home, the girls marveled at their dad’s miraculous change-of-heart. My youngest shook her head. “After all this time, why now?”
I said nothing, but I knew why.
I’d always known that Curt didn’t want a dog. And I had accepted it. In our marriage, we had a basic understanding. We both must agree or we couldn’t move forward. This served us well with most major decisions. Then a few years ago, life threw me a curve ball. I was experiencing a number of health issues. Pain and muscle weakness. Struggles with balance. Unbelievable fatigue. Depression. Eventually, I was diagnosed with progressive multiple sclerosis.
I spent most of my time at home. Alone. I longed for a pet, just someone to keep me company. But Curt wanted no part of it. Finally, I could no longer stay silent. I approached him one afternoon as he worked in the garage.
“Okay,” I said. “I’m going to say this only one time, so I want you to listen. Don’t crack a joke, don’t interrupt, and don’t change the subject.”
He stood and wiped his hands on his jeans. “Okay…”
“Every day, you go to work and the girls go to school. I’m here all alone. I used to go out all the time. I met friends for lunch, went grocery shopping or at least ran to the mall. But not anymore. I’m too tired. I don’t have the strength to walk very far. It’s just me here at home day after day and I—” I took a deep breath, hating the vulnerability in my voice. “I’m just lonely.”
He stared at me, speechless.
“I’m lonely, okay? And I know it sounds pathetic and I’m sure you don’t understand but I’d really like to get a dog. Anyway, that’s how I feel. I just wanted you to know.”
From the back of the van, my daughter’s giggles interrupted my thoughts. “I can’t believe we have a dog!”
A dog, Reality began to sink in. I’m bringing home an actual living, breathing, barking and pooping dog. Panic struck me. What have I done? What if this puppy was terrible? What if it barked all the time and chewed up Curt’s shoes? Yes, getting a dog had been my decision, but what if it was a terrible one?
Our first order of business was to come up with a name. We settled on Macy Grace. Like most girls, Macy had an obsession with shoes. She didn’t chew on them, she stole them. Several times a day, our sneaky little thief raced by dragging another shoe behind her.
She wasn’t a perfect puppy. She had her share of accidents. She barked at night. But it wasn’t long before Macy stole all of our hearts. She was tiny in size, but big on personality. A wonderful mix of playful and cuddly. And she seemed to like me.
She followed me everywhere. If I left the room, even while Macy was sound asleep, she jumped up and tagged along behind me.
MS is an unpredictable disease with good and bad days. On good days, Macy is there. By the time I grab my leg brace and put on my shoes, she’s already waiting and wagging by the door. She gives me a reason to go outside, get fresh air and soak up the sunshine.
If I’m having a bad day and need to rest, she doesn’t judge me. She joins me. She snuggles down beside me and exhales a contented sigh. She has a calming effect on me.
It’s been a few years since we brought Macy home. Today, she’s part of our family. I can’t say Curt loves her, but he tolerates her very well.
My little Macy has taught me a lot about love. Yes, I love my puppy, but that’s not what I’m referring to. I’m talking about a sacrificial love. A love that considers someone else’s feelings and puts their happiness ahead of their own. It’s a giving kind of love. Macy Grace will always be a sweet reminder of my husband’s love for me.
