la paloma
The same evening that Andre and I returned from our week of skiing, my dad was scheduled to fly in from Oregon with a furry little bundle of doggy joy for me. A one-year-old Golden Retriever who had been too much of a "party girl" for Guide Dogs for the Blind and had consequently been (politely) "kicked out." She had been in training near my parents' home in Oregon, but did not have the perfect etiquette nor manners to maintain the honor of being part of this elite group of service dogs. That's where I came in... I grew up training Guide Dogs with my family back in Oregon and continued training dogs as an adult. I even had a few Autism Service Dogs in my classroom with me when I taught second grade. Although I have been out of these programs for a few years now, my mom is still involved with Guide Dogs and heard about this little Goldie in need of a home sometime in January. I was on speed dial for all encounters of the dog kind.
Mom: "Hi. Have you ever thought about having a Golden Retriever?"
Me: "No way. They're crazy."
Mom: "Well, I have one for you."
Me: "I'll take her. I've always wanted a Golden."
Within less than 48hr I had "met" this crazy Oregon puppy via one blurry FaceTime call and agreed with a nervous yes to take her as my own. I waited a month until she was ready to come out to Colorado. I spent the first two weeks fretting about what I had just blindly agreed to and the second two weeks buying her everything I could think of that was remotely dog-related (Andre calls this my nesting period).
Andre and I anxiously waited for my dad in the hustle of the Denver airport on the evening of February 23. I barely said two words to my Dad when we met in baggage, luckily my better (calmer) half was happy to catch up with him while I just stood there biting my lip. When little Miss Thing rolled out in her deluxe XL crate, my heart flew out of my body. Even at one year old, she is tiny for a Golden and her long, luscious fur is much more red than gold. My dad popped her out of her kennel as fast as he could and rushed her outside to go potty, while I sprinted behind them, trying to catch up. I knelt down on the sidewalk, ready to say hello once she finished. I was not ready, however, for the force at which she dove into my arms and I practically flew backward. She buried her face into my neck, melting the rest of her body into me. We stayed like this for a long while and I had an overwhelming sense that she knew we were meant for one another.
She spent the first few days nameless. I wanted to get to know her personality quirks before bestowing upon her a new title. As we watched her fly around the yard one day, her golden feathers blowing in the wind as she went, Paloma was decided upon. In Spanish, Paloma means dove. The harmony behind the symbol of the dove has always brought me peace - so much so that in college I even tattooed one on my upper back. This year is undoubtedly going to be filled with many ups and downs for me as I transition into a new life. I am ending my work as a nanny and hoping to move into a new career, something completely different from anything that I have done thus far. I am already grateful to have my little dove by my side as I put in the hard work to discover what these next steps in life for me will be.
Andre and I anxiously waited for my dad in the hustle of the Denver airport on the evening of February 23. I barely said two words to my Dad when we met in baggage, luckily my better (calmer) half was happy to catch up with him while I just stood there biting my lip. When little Miss Thing rolled out in her deluxe XL crate, my heart flew out of my body. Even at one year old, she is tiny for a Golden and her long, luscious fur is much more red than gold. My dad popped her out of her kennel as fast as he could and rushed her outside to go potty, while I sprinted behind them, trying to catch up. I knelt down on the sidewalk, ready to say hello once she finished. I was not ready, however, for the force at which she dove into my arms and I practically flew backward. She buried her face into my neck, melting the rest of her body into me. We stayed like this for a long while and I had an overwhelming sense that she knew we were meant for one another.
She spent the first few days nameless. I wanted to get to know her personality quirks before bestowing upon her a new title. As we watched her fly around the yard one day, her golden feathers blowing in the wind as she went, Paloma was decided upon. In Spanish, Paloma means dove. The harmony behind the symbol of the dove has always brought me peace - so much so that in college I even tattooed one on my upper back. This year is undoubtedly going to be filled with many ups and downs for me as I transition into a new life. I am ending my work as a nanny and hoping to move into a new career, something completely different from anything that I have done thus far. I am already grateful to have my little dove by my side as I put in the hard work to discover what these next steps in life for me will be.
**SIDE NOTE: Paloma is also a yummy cocktail of
tequila and grapefruit juice (to go along with her
"party girl" reputation. Lastly, palomita means
little dove OR (more importantly)popcorn,
my main snack obsession.
My little Paloma is currently resting her head on my lap as I write this, staring up at me with those big brown eyes. No doubt she is wondering why we are inside at a desk instead of romping around outside on this beautiful day. She adapted quickly to our "on the go" lifestyle and keeps a goofy grin permanently plastered on her face. The first time Andre and I took her backcountry skiing, she completely lost her mind. She kept tripping over herself and tumbling downhill in the snow, only to pop right up (head completely covered in snow) and SMILE. She has discovered the joy of doing yoga, sitting on the patio chairs in the mornings after going on a long run, swimming, mountain biking, hiking, cats, goats and wine.
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