Hed-vig.  Think it in German, guys.

On that note, I think I've mentioned this before, but it isn't Becca.  It's Bee-ka.  Thank my older brother and his speech impediment.

If you follow me on Instagram, you've already seen photos of the little monster that has won our collective hearts.

I'd planned on Savannah and Birgette being only dogs for a while after losing Scarlette, but my heart just couldn't take it.  I started applying at local rescues, either specific for GSDs or those that currently had available GSDs.  For two of the rescues, the dogs that we were interested in were adopted before the ink was dry on our applications.  Then, late one night, D found New Beginnings Shepherd Rescue.




He'd tried to show me the available adults, but they also had a litter of puppies.  PUPPIES.  I'm all for adult dog adoption, but goddammit, I wanted a puppy.  So much of my life lately has been things that I can't control, but I could fight for a puppy.  I could struggle with a puppy - midnight potty breaks and chewing my feet and convincing the hubs that this was a good idea.  (This is very similar to my logic behind the Whisk.)  There's also this difference - a rescue adult dog is appreciative of the ample treats, the affection, the continuous regular feedings.  They show their joy for the things they've lacked.  A puppy just shows joy for everything - I'm equal to the string she found on the floor, the kibble hitting her dish, the grass she rolls in.  Her joy is infectious and has nothing to do with what she's missed in life.




I filled out the application the next day and was approved within a couple of days.  They asked me which puppy I was interested in and I tried to find one that I didn't think would look like Birgette, so I picked Butterfinger.  I also really, really love Butterfingers.  And Heath bars.  And Snickers.

On Sunday, the hubs and I drove about two hours to a city outside of Charleston (I use "city" loosely) to meet and finalize the paperwork on our new puppy.

I found an obscure BBQ restaurant in the middle of nowhere that had phenomenal reviews and a buffet.

She's nine weeks old and was born with the rescue.  Her mom was an owner-surrender, and the owner was evidently upset that she'd gotten herself knocked up, but not enough to invest in having her spayed.  The sire was another GSD from down the road (I'm just hoping they weren't kin).  Black and tan and sable, respectively.







There were thirteen puppies originally and only seven survived.  The rescue said that they supplemented normal feedings with bottle feedings, because mom just wasn't in the best condition.  People suck.  So they were well-handled, well-socialized and really seem to have gotten the best care.  A little ribby, but none of my other animals have been accused of being skinny, so we'll fix that.

Roughly eleven years' difference - also, from mine and D's first date.  :)

I knew something was missing in my life and I've been desperately trying to fill that void (hello, alcohol?), and she's doing a damn good job.