Joy Adele

Brad was right (I know. I said it. But it's all right, everyone, he doesn't actually read these blogs): We could never replace Ada. Her time with us...painfully short. Her passing...personally tragic. Another English Springer was out of the question right now. But I was now acutely aware of how quiet our little house has been since we lost Chlo and Juno. So, with Brad's encouragement, I began to earnestly search for a miniature dachshund.

My only conscious criteria was that I didn't want a long-haired dachshund. I wanted a clear distinction from my amazing Chloe, my sweet little soulmate. I scoured the internet...extending my geographical perimeter further and further. I saw pictures that would sap the sugar off a maple. Days and weeks went by...hundreds of pictures were viewed...and then...lightning.

I carefully showed my husband to see if he connected to this image as much as I did. But once burned; thrice learned. Brad Mosiman was treading carefully now. He would not be lured by a pretty face (He learned that lesson almost 40 years ago)...he asked practical questions:  age, price, location. None of these factors were in my favor. While I not-so-secretly obsessed over this little girl's photo album, Brad Mosiman began his own earnest search...showing me hideously ugly discount dachshunds from down-the-road. Okay, obviously there is no such thing as an ugly dachshund but you get the point.

Finally, he consented (We all knew he would). I filled out a complicated application that required a blood
sample, family history dating back five generations, character references from pastors, and a pledge (stamped by a notary) that, if my children and this puppy were dangling from a cliff overhanging a body of water teeming with great white sharks, piranhas, and crocodiles, I would, of course, save the puppy first. Duh. No brainer. 

What turned out to be a tech issue resulted in a week of cricket sounds. 

Huh.

Not meant to be?

But I couldn't let it go. I reached out by another means of communication.

Things moved along pretty quickly after that.

I haven't been in the puppy acquisition business for over fifteen years. I felt like I was in the middle of a spy novel. The specific location of the puppy would not be revealed to us until 12 hours prior to pick-up. We were to bring cash. We were to text our arrival at the end of the driveway until granted permission to enter the property. We were to remain in the vehicle until the owner approached us to verify our identity. 

Should I need a reminder of how much my husband loves me, please refer me back to this particular blog.

So, two states-lines later, I unlocked the briefcase full of bills from my wrist, exchanged it for my tiny chocolate-dapple dachshund puppy before slipping away into the shadows.

As good as my spy skills may be, they are nothing compared to the skills of my daughters.

Brad and I had made it to Pennsylvania when Savannah called the first time...suspicious about this late afternoon "service call."

We were on our way home, still in Ohio, when she called again, certain that something was afoot.

The jig was up. The puppy was microchipped. I was beginning to think maybe my kids had had me chipped as well.

The name discussion was, again, intense.

Ruby? No. Lolly? No.

I considered Adele. My mom's middle name and a little remembrance to our little Ada.

We negotiated a deal very quickly the next morning...sweet baby and I.  A 30:30 equation to satisfy the needs of both parties. Thirty minutes of concentrated snuggle time in exchange for thirty minutes of household chores with her velcro-ed to me. I was being held hostage by a five pound puppy.

I was doing the dishes when I glanced down at our little girl, nestled on the top of my feet, when, emotionally overwhelmed, I burst into tears with the memory of Chlo...my constant companion while standing at the kitchen counter. She would occasionally lay a gentle paw reminder of her presence on my foot if I were chopping something of particular interest to her. 

Concerned, my new friend tilted her head up at me, gentle eyes worried. I rushed to reassure her. "No, no," I told her, "I'm not sad. I'm crying because you bring me so much joy..." and then I was scrambling for the phone to call my husband. "I know her name," I cried.

Psalm 30:5

Weeping may endure for the night, but joy comes in the morning.