I have so many wonderful memories of my childhood dog, Yoda, who’s antics are remembered by half my small Midwest town. She was a badly behaved dog, never properly trained, but she was my friend and I can hardly imagine my childhood without her.

When I imagined my own kids growing-up years, I just assumed there would be another “Yoda” in our lives (though I certainly hoped we could have a better-behaved version), but years of living in rental homes with no-dog policies kept that from becoming a reality. Our oldest son, Tyler, isn’t really a dog guy,but our other three kids most definately inherited the dog-loving gene and they have each been pining after a canine companion since they could say the words “puppy”.  “Why can’t we just get a different house?” “Maybe the landlord won’t notice?” “Please, Mommy, can I keep him?” It was hard to see them wish and hope and yearn and know that there was just no way we could make it happen. (Why we didn’t just find a house that allowed dogs is another story, but trust me, we would have if we could have).

So nearly three years ago, when we decided to move our family to Wisconsin from California, and presumably, purchase our first home, the dog debate was ended. We would get a dog when we had our own home. We bought a dog breed book and the kids read and re-read that book a thousand times. I’d find my two school-agers laying on the carpet, heads together, pouring over that book. There are dog-eared pages and sticky-note markings of the favored breeds. That volume was the “book of dreams” for my children.

Last July, we arrived at our new home. Our own home. No landlords or rules. No one to tell us what we could and couldn’t do. We were homeowners, which meant, we could be dog owners, too! We told the kids that as soon as we were settled and had our ducks all in a row, we would get the dog. We promised.

We had no idea how hard “getting settled” would be. Living in a new state, a new city, and settling four kids into four new schools, suddenly needing to travel to CA for a week every month, remodeling our 2000 sq foot basement into living space by ourselves, dealing with a down economy and navigating the now-unfamiliar waters of living “near” family all proved to be much more than we had bargained for. “Settling in” was a long, difficult process. One we have not really finished doing even now, more than a year later.

I think sometime around six months into it, my kids gave up hope. They figured their parents were simply never going to feel ready. The ducks would never be in a row. We would never be “settled”. They stopped asking, stopped hoping, but I know, they never stopped wishing & dreaming. Each month I would think “We’ll be ready soon, maybe in a month or two.” “Once the money is all there, the finances all in place.” “Once we figure out how to deal with all that we’ve already been dealt, THEN we can get a dog.”  I gotta’ be honest, I am not sure that day will ever come. One day a few weeks ago, as I sat on the floor of my room and cried, frustrated that my life is so over-filled with to-do’s and responsibilities and demands and that I just can’t seem to get it right, I decided to stop trying to “get it right”, stop dreaming of  “getting my ducks in a row”. That’s not what life is all about, anyway. Life is about love and family and companionship and joy. Life is in the everyday happinesses and sorrows. And for my kids, life, childhood, is about that stupid dog.

So here we are. Were we ready for this? Heck no, but maybe heck, yeah.  I spent days searching for the right shelter, the right dog. And then I just said, “Forget it. There is no perfect dog. This one is cute, the breed we wanted, and he’s waiting for us.” We took a day off of work, drove 4 hours round trip, swinging by Petco on the way. We adopted that dog, pulled together the stuff we needed for him and the deed is done. I can’t promise I won’t have days when I am pulling out my hair, wondering what made me do such a foolish thing. But I know that my kids will always remember this time, and hopefully, remember years of love and companionship from their little, imperfect dog, adopted at the imperfect time, to an imperfectly run home with frazzled, but loving parents, who kept their promise . . .  eventually.