Sophie

She now has a name. We brought her home on Wednesday, but couldn’t decide on a name that was suitable for four days. I liked the name that Kacie gave to her Beagle several years ago, “Hosanna”. It’s original. It’s cute. It’s meaningful. But Kacie said we couldn’t use the same name twice.

There was Abby, but that’s the name of one of Kacie’s friends. We thought of Doxie, Roxie and Lexi, but those are too traditional. I liked Jasmine, but Kacie did not. She liked Rory, but I didn’t care for it. It didn’t matter much to Kim—she just refereed between Kacie and me. I finally reached a point that I didn’t care—I just wanted to know what to call the dog when she started yelping or began chewing on things.

It finally came down to a choice between Sookie/Suki (we couldn’t even agree on the spelling) or Sophie. Sookie/Suki was the name of a character on one of Kacie’s favorite TV shows (if we were going to name her that way, I would have preferred “Mork”). I don’t know where Sophie came from, but Kacie seemed to prefer it. So that’s her name. Sophie. The Dachshund. Miniature Dachshund to be exact.

It’s been five days now, and I still wonder what we’ve gotten ourselves into. Naming the dog was the easy part, compared to…well, compared to everything else. Like the housebreaking. Frankly, I’m about ready to just let her turn the living room into one giant potty. It’s tough enough to housebreak puppies, but we had to try to do it in the middle of a snowstorm.

And she does not like to be crated, let me assure you. She yelps and barks until she develops laryngitis. When we go to get her out in the morning, she turns her back on us like we’ve done her wrong.

So, for all the trouble she’s been, why am I anxiously waiting to get this blog finished so I can pack up my laptop and get home to see her? Why can I just picture her tiny little tail wagging when she hears my voice? Why do I envision her thrusting her 2 lb. 11 oz. body on me as soon as I get seated?

Maybe, in some small way, this is how God views me. I know I’m much more trouble than I’m worth (though I am pretty well housebroken). I’m sure I frustrate the fire out of Him from time to time. But maybe He thinks I’m worth it for those few times that I abandon myself to Him and shower Him with unconditional love and affection. I’d like to think that despite all the trouble I cause, He gets pleasure when I just curl up in His lap and go to sleep.