One all black dog and one all white dog greeted us at the door. They licked us, tails stinging our thighs. These dogs were friendly, which we knew was important in picking out a pit bull.
Plus, they came from a family with kids ranging from teens to tots.
Under the kitchen table, we saw what looked like a lumpy fleece blanket of black and white. There were 12 puppies in all, each a mix of black and white except for the runt, who was a chestnut color.
Brent and I wanted a male, and we were really partial to the white pups. We started inspecting them for cuteness and found most all the girls were white and most all the boys were black, ironic since the mother was all black and father was all white.
When Brent called me over to look at a puppy, I was surprised to find he had warmed up to a mostly black one.
I picked up the sleepy puppy, but he didn’t even open his eyes. His little body just rolled around lifelessly in my hands.
I tried to wake him by propping him up on all fours, but it didn’t work. Like Bambi on ice, he slid right back down to a sleeping position.
A few minutes later, he groggily cracked his eyes open to peer out at me, but not even that lasted long.
I liked that the puppy was a he, and I really liked that he was the biggest pup in the litter. Plus, all his white markings were symmetrical.
I liked his sleepy manners too.
And in that instant, we weren’t just looking for a puppy, we were bringing a puppy home.
That’s how we got Sensi.
In March, Sensi will be 42-years-old in dog years (or 6 in human years). His face is peppered with white hairs and sleep is his number one priority, but he’s still my first (and so far, only) baby.
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