Today is our sixth Mitchaversary. Six years ago today, I went to the pound and picked up my pup. When I got to the pound, I saw some other girl holding him and getting ready to reserve him, even though I'd reserved him days before.
Then I killed her.
People aren't kidding when they talk about what a mother will do for her child.
And I brought the dog home and for two years he was cute as could be, but was a terror as well. He chewed furniture, carpet, shoes, underwear, bras, countless pairs of flip flops--made huge messes, jumped, etc. It's amazing that I didn't suffocate him with a pillow, now that I think about it.
But for some reason that damn dog has brought me more joy than I ever thought he would. He snuggles and makes us laugh and is always so happy to see me when I get home. When he is smiling I can't help but to smile back (kind of like that James Taylor song). Sometimes I think my heart just might explode because of his cuteness. And you might not know this, but Matt and I have become critically-acclaimed singer/songwriters because we have an uncanny ability to change the lyrics of any song to be about Mitch. (Probably a good thing that we haven't spawned humans.)
An exchange from about four years ago:
Me: Man, these last few years have been so horrible--with my job and family and being so poor. Shit, if I hadn't had Mitch, I probably would have killed myself.
Matt: What about me?
Me: Oh, uh, I mean, yeah, of course you. I mean, you gave me Mitch, so if it wasn't for you, then I would have been even more miserable.
Talk about a weak save.
Anyway, happy Mitchaversary!
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