A little story about a perfectly, imperfect dog, loved by a perfectly, imperfect woman!
I nearly didn’t take him. He was the first one to approach me, wagging his tail, his wet nose side swiped my hand as he span himself round to sit on my knee. “Oh Kate, he’s picked you, he has to be, ‘THE ONE.’ My sister was excited as it was her idea for me to get a dog. I knew he should be, ’THE ONE.’ They say the first dog to approach you has chosen you, but there was a problem, he didn’t look perfect. I looked around the room at the other puppies playing and noticed they were chunkier, fluffier, they had longer tails and fuller, curly coats, they looked cuter. “Why has he only got half a tail?” I asked the owner. “Oh, he had an infection when he was born and his Mother bit half his tail off, he’s also lost half of his back paw, he still walks ok though. He’s my favorite, there’s something very special about that dog and if I didn’t already have three dogs, I would keep him.” I wondered if he made the last part up to make me want him, all the others puppies were reserved, but for some reason I wasn’t connecting with the only remaining puppy with half a tail and half a foot. I wanted a perfect puppy, so I made my excuses, said I would think about it and we left empty handed.
Over the following week I kept thinking about the litter and the remaining puppy with half a tail and half a foot. I was touched by my sisters idea to get a puppy, I’d recently left an abusive relationship and moved closer to family, she felt a furry friend would be the perfect companion to help me start a new chapter in my life.
Thankfully my conscience kicked my shallow thinking in the butt and I found myself asking why I had rejected a gorgeous Puppy because I decided he wasn’t perfect? To think like that put me in the same judgement camp as my ex partner. A man that physically and emotionally hurt me because I didn’t fit into his idea of perfect. Who the hell was I to decide what perfect looked like anyway?
This realization filled me with shame. I immediately phoned my sister sharing my regret that we hadn’t brought him home that day, a few weeks had passed so I knew the chance of him still being available was unlikely. She told me to trust that if was meant to be he would still be available.
I immediately phoned, anxious to know if he had been rehomed. “No, he’s still here, I was going to keep him, but if you want him, I’d be ok with you taking him.” “YES, YES, YES.” I replied, thanking the Angels, the Universe, anyone who had helped so I could redeem my shallowness and give this gorgeous soul a forever home. That same day I returned with my sister and was again greeted by his bouncy body, floppy ears, scruffy coat, wet nose, half a tail and half a foot, but this time was different. This time I appreciated just how perfect he was. Perfectly, imperfect. Gorgeously perfect in every way.
I named him Frankie, aka, Mr Wigglebottom, because he wiggles his bottom a lot when he gets excited, which is often. Just like the man said that day, there is something special about Frankie. He has big eyebrows that curl upwards that make him appear very distinguished, an old soul, that’s travelled many lifetimes and in doing so has learnt how to love unconditionally. Frankie lives in the moment and loves life. He’s taught me how to judge less and love more. Frankie was born on the 12th November, 2007. This year we will celebrate 12 years of togetherness.
He was an important lesson for me.
Two perfectly, imperfect souls, that have healed each other with LOVE. Unconditional Love.
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