Fresno native discovers how puppy love overcomes coronavirus pandemic-induced woes

When “Back to School” season is shamefully canceled, get a puppy. (We did.) And may I say to all pet parents: I get it now.

“I don’t think you realize what it means to get a dog ... it’s a lot,” I’d lecture on repeat to my kids and husband. “We want a puppy!’ they’d plead (husband included). This went on for one whole year. “It’s going to rip up our yard, it’s going to chew everything, it’s going to poop, it’s going to cry at night, it’s going to dictate how we live and how we travel to Fresno to visit family ... and I’m going to end up being the one doing all the work for it.” (Sound familiar, moms?) And then my family would cry (the kids) and roll their eyes (my husband) and tell me I was a buzzkill.

It took 12 full months for me to surrender to the inevitable, despite the barrage of squishy #puppiesofinstagram screenshots they’d find and shove in my face on the daily. Why so resistant? I wasn’t sure I was in the right head-space to handle it. (Ie: This world is falling apart and I have zero patience for anything right now!) What finally broke me? A Fresno connection.

We’d been “shopping” since the start of summer, but few were available thanks to pandemic puppy-fever, and none of them seemed right. Just when I thought we’d run out of options, an old friendly acquaintance had lunch with my sister (in Fresno) and announced that her out-of-town family friends had a brand new litter they were looking to find homes for. Pure white labradors, first-time dam, first-time family breeders — exactly what we were seeking.

Pictures, videos and phone numbers were texted to me. I called. It felt right. “I can do this,” I thought. We sent the deposit. Seven weeks later we picked up our “Dolly,” drove her home, and have been trying to keep her out of my roses ever since.

This last week found me planted in my patio, (metaphorical white flag next to me), with a soft little body in my lap and baby jaws nipping my hands because I’ve yet to get better chew toys. As I write this, she’s sleeping under my chair in the kitchen. We are in the “take her out to potty in the middle of the night” phase and, as I stand outside in my robe and flip-flops at 1 a.m., I try to remember if my parents did the same thing with our family dog 30 years ago.

My daughters are in awe. My husband is acting like a 10 year old with a new toy. I am completely exhausted and filled with love and joy. It feels like new mom life all over again — except now my 8- and 9-year-old babies are taking turns to pooper-scoop their new little sister’s mess on the lawn. Family life suddenly seems normal again, despite feeling so upside down just a few weeks ago (thanks to no back to school and utter idiocracy everywhere else).

To hell with the world’s dysfunction -- for now, anyway. Happiness comes with a brand new puppy. This latest mom-of-3 finally gets it.