Over the summer, there were a few days that were really rough in our household while my brother (my roommate) and I argued over my wanting to, and pursuing steps towards, adopting a second dog—specifically a 15-year old pug named Fudge Brownie, who’s photo I just fell in love with on a rescue site.

Fudge was given a second chance when Live Love Rescue removed him from a local pound, as he was scheduled to be euthanized without much time left (I know, heartbreaking, right?). 

A while back, my brother and I had both agreed that I would hold off on my search to add another member to my fur family until he had moved out—something that was to be the plan some time down the line—but as I stood on the sidelines as he began making plans in his life and moving forward, I began holding a resentment knowing that I had to wait until his timeline unfolded to do something that I really wanted to do.

I love my brother dearly, but if he doesn’t want to hear something, then he really really doesn’t want to hear it and quickly makes it obvious that he’s shutting that shit down, something that we are complete opposites of as I always am down to talk things out, clear the air and share my feelings. Anyways, after a couple of days of shouting and then silence, we hashed things out calmly and he agreed to not disagree with my plan. Basically, he didn’t want another dog in the house, but he wasn’t going to hate me forever if I moved forward with the adoption.

So two days later, after a virtual house tour with the rescue and a reference check to confirm I’d be a good dog mama, Izzy (my other dog) and I drove out to Cleveland to meet Fudge, with every intention of bringing him home. Izzy waited in the car while I walked up the driveway to meet Fudge, surprised how small he was and enamored with his cuteness, I teared up and just fell in love with this little guy from the moment I saw him. The meet and greet was a success with both a general carefree reaction from both, and so along home I went with the newest member of my little fur family.

It’s now been three months since I brought him home, and even though my brother’s exact words to me prior to me adopting Fudge were “another dog isn’t going to make you happy,” I can now say that I couldn’t disagree more. There’s something about his little wrinkly face and goofy spirit that has filled up part of my heart that had felt empty for a while. It feels good to feel needed, even if it is only by a snuggly four-legged creature that follows me around wherever I go.

There’s also something about having animals that brings me joy, that another person that doesn’t have the same connection with them wouldn’t quite understand. And while having one dog is pretty great, having grown up with a pup pair that had each other for company—now Izzy has her very own partner-in-crime and I have a full-time cuddle bug that stalks me around the house with his big bug eyes and takes naps by my side.

I am very happy about my decision and am glad I stuck to my guns on something that I really wanted. It’s not easy to do, even when there are external factors that can cause friction along the way. But at the end of the day, you have to do what makes you happy, and stand up for what you believe and what you want—even if other’s may not quite “get it” themselves. Some people want to have or adopt children, I get fulfillment in my unofficial little senior home for pets that I’ve created—which makes my heart feel full.

I’m happy to report also that after all of Fudge’s vet checks it was concluded that my senior pug is 8-10 years of age, not 15, so I am thrilled to be able to share my heart and home with him for much longer than I originally expected. It’s gonna be hard to him one go when the time comes—he is one special, funny little guy.

Song of the Blog: (I listened to this on repeat, so happy I was in tears, during our ride home from the rescue)
Still Falling for You by Ellie Goulding | circa 2016