furry whirlwind

Well, it's been a while since I posted. Trust me, I have a really good excuse.

A year ago we lost our beloved Willie, and it left such a hole in our hearts. But with babies arriving and busy schedules, the timing was never quite right to fill that void. Around last Thanksgiving I started looking. Turns out, trying to adopt a dog is worse than online dating. I came close a couple of times, but the sweet pups always slipped through my fingers.

Then mid-January I was having lunch with a dear friend who had a friend who volunteered at the Palm Springs Animal Shelter, who mentioned that a fabulous dog named Pickles had just come in.

After lunch I searched for her on their website but didn't see her listed. I did, however, run across an adorable 8-week-old white fluff ball called Polar Bear — and her sister Marshmallow — who were going up for adoption the following day.

Tuesday morning I called and said I would love to meet the two pups. Marshmallow was adopted the moment they opened, but I could have a meet-and-greet with Polar Bear. I hopped in the car and drove to Palm Springs. When I arrived, they informed me he'd already had a meet-and-greet, so I couldn't see him just yet. The prospective family had gone home to coax a husband off the golf course, and if they weren't back within two hours, the puppy would be back up for adoption.

And so I waited. In my car. Stealthily scanning every person entering the facility for a golf couple from La Quinta.

One hour and fifty-eight minutes later, I got the call.

Now — what person walks in to greet a tiny pup and leaves empty-handed?

Minutes later I signed on the dotted line, placed the teeniest furball into my dog carrier, and drove home while he wailed the entire way.

I was in shock over what I had just done. I called my husband, who was (of course) on the golf course, to let him know I had a small surprise. I think he thought it was something special for dinner.

The next days, weeks, and months were a blissful whirlwind. I hadn't had a puppy-puppy in over thirty years — I'd always adopted older dogs. Needless to say, some adjustments were in order.

I named him Gunnar. Old Norse for noble warrior. His mom had delivered eight puppies under an abandoned van in the desert. Days later, someone heard puppies crying, scooped up the mother and all her pups, and brought them to the Palm Springs Animal Shelter — a truly special facility in the Coachella Valley. I figured that wee babe deserved a name that reflected his bold start in the world. The mom and puppies got to stay together until they were weaned, and then each one was adopted the very day they went live on the site.

All the while, dinner still needed to be served. Below are some of the favorites that graced our table during those months. But as you can imagine, every time I sat down to write a post — someone had run off with a sock. Went for a walk. Swallowed a squeaker. Tinkled on the carpet. Needed a nap. Woke up after twelve minutes. Practiced his commands. Made new friends. Needed a snuggle. I needed a snuggle. You get the idea.

Time flies when you're chasing a little ball of fur.

Here's what kept us fed through the whirlwind:

Miso Salmon Bowl

Mediterranean Falafel Salad

Shrimp Scampi

Mushroom Stroganoff

Creamy Tortellini Soup

Now this wee bear is growing into a dog worthy of his name — smart as a whip, a heart as big as Scandinavia, and a personality to match.

Welcome to our world, Gunnar. We're so glad you found us.