It was past eleven. The stars were visible as we pulled into the garage, my eyes heavy after a long day's excitement. After a fun evening with my parents, we had come back to my childhood home in Lancaster where I would spend the weekend catching up on television and otherwise spending quality time with my family. I was unloading some of my bags from the trunk, brain on autopilot until I could collapse in bed, when I felt something fluffy brush against my legs. I turned around and there he was. His little black eyes on his white snout looked up at me, his fluffy, upturned tail wagging slightly. He stood there, his orange fur like a fox's against the dark night. Dad had taken him outside to pee, holding his leash.
I broke into a huge smile. I hold out my hand to his snout. "Hey, Magic."
The dog cautiously sniffs me. I giggle.
My family has always been a dog family; my mom has really bad asthma around cats, which I have unfortunately inherited. The first dog I remember having was a HUGE (I was also tiny at the time) black Labrador Retriever named Valentine, who died in an unfortunate accident when I was eight. After that, I had a pair of Welsh Corgis; one a fluffy, orange Pembroke named Cosmo, the other a calm, blue merle Cardigan named Hope. After Cosmo died a tragic and sudden death, we lived with Hope alone for a few years.
Then, we got Magic.
After Cosmo died, Mom started looking around for our next dog, after things had calmed down about college. She happened over Facebook to discover someone who bred Icelandic Sheepdogs.
After a while, the breeder was going to move, and could not bring along some of her Icies. So, our mom reached out to her, and this summer my parents brought home Magic from West Virginia, who was scarcely more than a puppy at one years old.
I was immediately enchanted by this little charmer. When for the longest time the dogs you live with look like this (see picture below), any non-dwarf dog looks like a miniature wolf.
Because Magic was relocated, it took a long time for him to get used to us; he barked a lot, and acted all nervous and timid. This only made him more endearing to me, and I loved just petting his head as he rested his snout on my leg.
Then, I went to college. I understand why dogs aren't allowed to live in the dorms, but being separated from a beloved pet leaves an emotional void that, albeit tiny, can't be entirely filled. Your family members can come on Family weekend, but it's a hassle to drive two hours in a car with a barking dog in the trunk. Sure, there are the dogs that Pets on Wheels brings to the Quad from 3 p.m. to 5 p.m. certain Fridays and the dogs found with their owners walking through campus, but it's not quite the same as your own, private source of unconditional love. And you can't hug fish.
This morning, Magic followed me into my room after breakfast. I looked down at his smiling, vulpine face, and sat down. I stroked his head as he licked my hands and wedged his snout into the crook of my knee. It's good to be home.
