On Christmas Eve our family left the woods of northern Pine County and ventured down to southeastern Minnesota. Mike's parents live there in a hundred-year-old farmhouse on the edge of the prairie. It was the first extended road trip for our rescue dog Jerry, the first road trip that lasted longer than a trip to the vet's. The eight-hour round trip made me realize how far Jerry has come in the past three months.
When I first started taking Jerry for on-leash walks, he was afraid to walk past my husband Mike's Dodge Ram pickup. Yesterday Jerry clambered right in and lay quietly beside me, bright-eyed and alert.
It's been such a long time since Mike and I traveled with a growing puppy, we not only forgot to bring Jerry's dog food for the day, we forgot his breakfast in the flurry of morning activity. We stopped at a McDonald's to order two hamburgers for Jerry, augmented by French fries that my son Wyatt and I offered him.
As I related the story of how Jerry entered our lives to Mike's cousin Carmen, I realized, Jerry is doing well. Though he tries our patience at times with his chewing, he's a sweet dog. And despite whatever abuse or neglect he experienced early in his life, Jerry has never had a housetraining accident: not even after drinking the two bowls of water Aunt Evvie brought him, undoubtedly needed after the salty McDonald's fries.
When we finally said our goodbyes, we left through the front door of the farmhouse and headed to the truck, which was parked at the side of the house. Jerry, though, made a beeline for the side door of the farmhouse, ready to continue the visit.
First fast-food fries, first long road trip, first Christmas, first visit with extended family. Every day is filled with mundane moments that in some small way are exciting firsts. To you lovely readers who have stumbled upon this little blog, I wish for you a year filled with those moments.
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