I remember the day I seemingly aged twenty years, the day I gained the responsibilities of a mother. I pulled into the driveway of a house that was used strictly for running an animal shelter. The owner greeted us outside and told us to follow her to the backyard through a side wooden gate. We trudged through the tall grass up to a small, round, metal pen. I watched as little heads of different shades of brown popped up at the sound of the grass crunching next to their sleeping bodies. Many were obviously not impressed with me, shoving their sleepy faces back into the warmth of their surrounding siblings, but one stared right back at me. He was fluffier than the rest. He had a little black nuzzle and a coffee brown body with black paint streaks running down from his head to his back. He barked. I smiled. I swooped him up in my hands and brought him right to my heart, patting his velvety head with my free hand. He made a short whining noise which caused me to cuddle him into my neck where he eventually fell back asleep. I honestly felt like my heart had begun to melt as his breathing slowed down to a peaceful beat.
     

He was it. He was the one I wanted and the one I would spend every waking hour taking care of. We completed all the paperwork it required to adopt the sweet baby and then we were off to begin our lives together. He slept peacefully in my lap the entire ride, squishing his nose in between the crease where my forearm and bicep fold. The entire thirty minute ride home I smiled at his tiny sleeping figure, making sure with every road bump or stop light he wouldn’t feel the car’s sudden movements and awaken. We arrived home and I sat him down on the cool, cream colored ceramic tile of the living room and watched as he turned in a small circle before sitting down and looking back up at me as if he was waiting for something far more exciting to happen. He stumbled over to my ankles and pawed softly, letting out a small frustrated growl. I picked him back up again and his tail wagged instantly; my smile stretched from New York to Califonia.
     

From that day on, I woke up whenever he did - to take him out to do his business, feed him wet dog food, pour him some fresh drinking water. I watched him as he journeyed around his new home to make sure he didn’t get himself into too much trouble- not that he’d get far on his adventures, since his little body could only handle so much. I cradled him as often as I could. I panicked when he hurt himself in any way and held him closer after each accident. I watched him grow from the size of an Irish potato to the size of a tall goat - four pounds to fifty-five. I watched his fur go from cotton ball fluffy, to wiry like the hair on corn, to the final coat of wavy velvet. I've quite obviously never given birth to a child, but I proudly hold the title of mother to my four legged son, Theo.