|look at that face|
I adopted Gwen from my local SPCA on February 2, 2012. I know--who adopts a dog when they're thinking about moving to a different continent? But honestly, in the beginning of February, I didn't think I was going at all. And I was so, so lonely. Like I mentioned before, I lived in a rural area. There weren't a lot of people my own age (or many people, period), and I was tired of going home and staring at the walls. Alone. Cooking dinner. Alone. Watching bad TV. Alone. Going for trail runs. Alone. You get the picture.
I don't know too much about Gwen's life before the SPCA picked her up, since she was found as a stray, wandering around town. What I do know is that whoever had her before I did, must have loved her very much--she adores people and has perfect house manners. Seriously: she didn't get on the furniture for a week. I thought dogs that don't get on furniture were mythical beasts, like unicorns and Crumple-Horned Snorkacks. However she got from staying off someone's couch to the SPCA, though, I'm glad she did. Gwen has brought more light and joy into my life than just about anything (even though she has decided my wake-up time is 5:45 a.m., enforced with toe licks and jingling of dog tags; yeah, I'm a morning person, but that's a little too much morning).
Gwen's favorite pastimes include napping, looking cute, shedding, trying to chase the bunnies that live in our neighborhood, getting belly-rubs from my track team, and going on trail runs. She does sing to me whenever she has feelings to express (and she has a lot of feelings), but I have not yet succeeded in teaching her "I love you." Gwen is what I usually refer to as a city Siberian, as opposed to a pulling-a-sled-through-the-Alaskan-wilds Siberian. She hates precipitation (good thing we're going to Galicia!), she doesn't like running up hills, and when she's tired, she pouts.
|one second after I snapped this, she started glaring at me, because|
there's snow on the ground? she should be inside? obviously?
Taking Gwen to Spain will be a totally new challenge. It will mean less traveling for me, since I can't exactly throw her on the bus. It will also complicate my search for housing--not only do I have to find a place I like, I have to find a place that likes her (and someplace to crash in the interim). She's a picky eater, so I have to find some type of Spanish dog food that she'll deign to eat; if she gets sick or injured, I'll have to navigate finding an English-speaking vet. Spain and the U.S. are in the same rabies zone, so she won't have to go through quarantine--but there's still the stress of flying her. And on it goes.
But I think it will be worth it. I can't imagine going back to a regular alarm clock, anyway.
My lie: I have a ring made out of a Portuguese escudo, bought last summer at Lisbon's Feira dos Ladros, not a Spanish peseta.
Two truths and a lie for Gwen: her many aliases include Fluffbucket, Gwensicle, and Gwennifer Lopez; the only vegetable she will eat is frozen green beans; like many Siberians, she doesn't fetch--seriously, why should she chase something a human is throwing away?