Getting a Dog

My brother and I had been begging for years. My dad was all for it. My mom on the other hand always said no because she would be the one taking care of it.  One day as we were driving home we passed the animal shelter. My brother and I begged to “take a peek.” Mom caved and we went to look. There were so many puppies and dogs and cats and kittens without homes. We looked at three little puppies and got to see them in a special visiting room, but my mom still said no. When we got home we told my dad, who was upset that went to look at dogs without him. 

Later that week we found ourselves back at the animal shelter, showing him the dogs we saw. My dad didn’t like little dogs, so we went and looked at the bigger dogs. Then we saw him: his name was “Cowboy” because of his coloring. My dad sat next to the glass window, and “Cowboy” came and sat on the other side of the window across from my dad. We had already used up two of our three “visits” with the dogs, and the dogs were both really cute and sweet. We asked the front desk if we could see him, and we found ourselves in a room with this mutt “Cowboy.” When we had used up our fifteen minutes, the lady came back in to take Cowboy back and asked if we were ready to decide, but we had only narrowed it to Cowboy or a spunky little black dog. 

We finally decided to get Cowboy. We decided to get Cowboy because he was the calmer dog and because he seemed to be the sweeter of the two. He was seven months old when we got him and a little ball of energy. My brother and I were giddy with happiness. He was the one my mom and my dad liked more. We were able to see the two dogs together and Cowboy was more friendly towards the other dog. Cowboy also had a milder manner which we all liked a lot. 

When we got home, our new dog was shaking with happiness as well, his whole body moving with his tail. As he was sniffing out his new home, we were trying to think of names for him. My brother and I suggested several names: “Cookie Dough,” “Chocolate,” and “Brownie,” etc. My dad said no to all of them.

 After about thirty minutes of contemplating, my dad had it. “Tahi,” he said. It means “one” in Maori, the native language of New Zealand where my Dad Grew up. It was perfect.

That afternoon, we took him on his first walk. My dad held the leash the whole time, much to mine and my brother’s chagrin. My brother and I were elated and overjoyed to have a dog and even though we wanted to hold the leash we were still super happy about getting Tahi.