One afternoon while visiting my grandmother, we found ourselves reminiscing about dogs. My grandma, who has been navigating the challenges of rapidly progressing dementia in recent years, began recalling cherished memories from before her illness. She spoke fondly of the chihuahuas she once had, her eyes sparkling as she described how much joy they brought her.
She shared how, despite their small size, they were bursting with personality. “They were barkers,” she said with a laugh, “but they were such good dogs.” What she adored most was their snuggly nature—always eager to cuddle.
Her deep affection for chihuahuas inspired me to give her a special surprise. I decided to find a chihuahua, train it, and eventually gift it to her.
But, as life often does, my plan hit an unexpected snag. I found a seller with chihuahuas available, and everything seemed to align perfectly. Then, out of the blue, the seller sold all the puppies to someone else. I was crushed.
It felt like such a disappointment.
Not long after, my cousin reached out with an intriguing lead. “I heard you’re looking for a chihuahua for Grandma,” she said. “A coworker told me her boyfriend’s mom is selling puppies.”
Hopeful again, I asked for a photo of the puppy. When the picture arrived, my heart sank. It wasn’t a chihuahua. Grandma had made it very clear—she wanted another chihuahua, nothing else.
Still, I couldn’t look away from the photo. There was something about this little pup that tugged at my heartstrings. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t a chihuahua; I felt an instant connection. That’s when it hit me—this puppy wasn’t meant for Grandma. This puppy was meant for me. I’ve always had a soft spot for small dogs, and this little one felt like she was exactly what I needed.
Without a second thought, I messaged my cousin: “She’s SOLD! I’m buying her.”
Her reply came almost immediately: “No way, REALLY?”
“Yep,” I wrote back. “I’m picking her up in a few days.”
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