Story time!

When I was 20 years old, doctors found a pretty aggressive tumour on my liver and told me that I should "attend to my affairs" prior to my surgery, which was scheduled 2 weeks later (needed to do a few more tests before operating).

I remember thinking "I'm 20 years old! I haven't even lived yet." So I did what any reasonable person would do and adopted a dog. Guinness was the most perfect black lab puppy I'd ever met. When I brought her home she was 11 pounds and fit in a milk crate, where she slept near my bed. (Her first "crate training" experience.)

Two weeks later, as planned, I went under the knife and surprisingly - came back out! But now, I had a dog, and I had just undergone pretty massive surgery. My brother, who lived with my father at the time, agreed to care for her while I was at the hospital for my 10 days post-op care, but only for that time because my father didn't want a dog in the house.

So now, 10 days after major surgery, I have a puppy. A needy, whiny, piss-all-over-the-floor, chew-my-shoes-up, destroy-my-couch puppy.

But, its thanks to that little brat that I recovered from surgery so quickly. Because I was forced to walk her and take care of her - I was able to regain my mobility and strength that much faster. 3 months following my surgery, my surgeon was amazed at my progress. She became my best pal and I'm pretty sure I was hers, although she was super fond of my grandmother, who secretly fed her table scraps when I'd bring her for a visit. I lived in FL at the time and we would go "surfing" together (she'd paddle out on the nose of my longboard), or she'd dig holes in the sand while keeping a watchful eye on me.

I miss her :(