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Bella's Tale

That's my story and I'm sticking to it!

I was born a poor black child...

Wait, no I wasn’t. That was Steve Martin’s character in “The Jerk.” I was born sometime in 2001, according to the vet. I’m not sure if that’s true, because I still feel like a puppy most days and am still growing, though Mom says I’m growing out more than up…but that’s another story involving diet dog food that I’d really rather not get into right now.

My early life is another story I’m keeping to myself. I will admit to you that in early December of 2003 I was arrested and locked in a 4-by-6-foot cell for about a week. I’d really rather not talk about that ugly little chapter of my life either, but take it from me, don’t try running up and down Main Street in Pearland, Texas, without identification. Not a good idea.

Some good did come from that experience, however. I met my new mom, Wendy, on December 13, 2003. She said she’d seen my picture on the Petfinder website and thought I was cute. Naturally. Of course, she was looking for a bigger dog and actually came to the Pearland City Animal Shelter (aka: the jail) to meet a Boxer. Lucky for me, Boxer girl was in a really bad mood that day. Who could blame her, really? She was stuck next door to some really loud neighbors, desperately needed a bath and was having, ahem, “female problems.” Poor girl. For some reason, Boxer girl didn’t like my mom much at all and tried to lunge through the cage right at her. Mom backed up in a hurry, turned around and there I was…wagging my entire body and trying my best to look adorable.

It worked.

I don’t know what Boxer girl’s problem was, because as soon as Wendy let me out of the cage, I just knew she was going to be my new mom. I immediately crawled all over her, shedding hundreds of tiny white hairs all over her black sweater. Hey, it could’ve been worse. Some four-legged people pee when they’re nervous or excited and I was feeling both those emotions in a big way. Mom didn’t seem to mind much and we hit it off right away. When she asked me if I wanted to come home with her, I headed straight for the door (had to let her know I was no dummy, after all). The warden at the jail must’ve realized that Wendy was meant to be my new mom, because I was allowed to go to my new home that very day.

I wasn’t keen on the car ride. Reminded me too much of the last time I was in a vehicle and wound up in jail. We were at my new home soon enough though and I couldn’t wait to bail out of the car and leave some “proof” in the backyard that this was my territory. I was a little surprised when I walked in the back door of the house and discovered another dog. Egads! Didn’t these people know I was more than enough dog for any household? Well, I figured I should make the best of the situation, since it was far preferable to the concrete confines from which I’d just been paroled. I immediately told this other dog, Toby, who the new boss was going to be in the house and he seemed to understand and backed away. Turns out, Toby is a pretty good older brother. He lets me swipe his bones and doesn’t even complain when I eat all his “old man” food from his bowl. (Neither of us like the diet stuff in my bowl.)

I soon met my new cat sister, Keisha. She kept to herself mostly at first, but didn’t seem to mind when I walked past her and gave her a friendly lick on the head. Later, I discovered that Keisha had a pretty cool stash of stuffed cat toys that are big fun to chew and shake. But for some reason, she doesn't much like to play with them after I'm done "borrowing" them. Oh, well. More toys for me!

I got a bath right away that first day, then mom went to the store to buy me some toys of my very own and a brand new bed. The bed is great for naps, but I let Mom know that first night that I much prefer sleeping in the big bed under the covers. I let her sleep there too, so she can't complain. The only time Mom minds this is when I kick her in my sleep or growl when she nudges me over because I’m hogging the bed. What can I say? I don’t like to have my beauty sleep disturbed.

Mom took me to the vet a couple days after adopting me. They were very nice, but the visit wasn’t much fun with all the prodding and the shots, nor was I thrilled with the news that I’d have to return soon to be “fixed.” Come to find out, being “fixed” felt a lot like getting broken, but Mom assured me I’d feel better soon and she was right.

Life is pretty good now. I’ve got a new grandmother, too. Everybody calls her Ga. She’s great because she feeds me table scraps (Mom doesn’t like this, but so far, Ga is winning this battle. Yea, Ga!). Also, Ga’s chair is right next to the big front windows and she lets me sit with her and talk to all the cars and people that go by.

Mom, Toby and I go for walks everyday. This is my favorite part of the day. I especially like it when I see rabbits in the woods near the house or birds in the trees. I really don’t like motorcycles or trucks, though, and I let them know it when they pass us by. I’ve put on about 7 or 8 lbs. since Mom adopted me, which she says is almost too much and I should lay off the table scraps, but Ga and I don’t listen to such crazy talk. I’m a happy girl.

Okay, so this isn’t exactly “A Tale of Two Cities” or “Ulysses,” but it’s my story and I’m sticking to it. Besides, who doesn’t love a happy ending?