I admit it: I love my little sister.

Dear Readers (both of you):

I admit: when “Wilma” first walked in the door—rather, was carried through the door by my parents—I hated her. Hated her. Here she was, a tiny puppy with teeth a’nashing showing absolutely NO respect for me, a credentialed hound (Eradicating—not one—but two rabbits in 2010). Why was she here? She sure couldn’t snuggle; she’d bit you She certainly couldn’t warm your bed; she peed in it! She needed to learn not to take my food, not to jump all over like an idiot, not to chew mom and dad’s stuff. She had her own la-la food, made especially for her. To think: It had gravy! And though she only whimpered one night, it was A-N-N-O-Y-I-N-G. A hound requires 23 hours of sleep, you know. So if we lose more than one, we can never catch up.

But now? I deal with less sleep. I mean… look at her.

Beagle puppy snuggling up to a furry cat

Wilma likes Duncan-- and with good reason: he's soft!

She’s awesome. Mom and dad rescued Wilma from Last Day Dog Rescue in Livonia, MI— a group of really dedicated volunteers that not only rescue dogs, but also they find responsible matches for the dogs through home visits and interviews. Here’s how she looked when they had her:


Beagle puppy 6 weeks old

Wilma, 6 weeks old.

You have to admit: She’s adorable. And I have to tell you, she’s funny, too; she gets the zoomies, just like me. She loves to eat, just like me. She enjoys sitting where I’ve sat, snoozing where I snooze, and going outside when that’s where I am. She tries hard not to wake me up, but sometimes can’t help herself; she loves me. And, well, I love her, too.

When she first got here, so many people asked mom or dad: “How does Wes like Wilma?” I wonder, did I seem that grouchy? Though I may tire faster than she does, she and I play a lot. (Every day, you can usually catch us at 2:30.) I’ve taught her where the cat litter is and how people at the door usually have something for us. But do I ever get angry with her? Of course. Sometimes anyway. For instance, her puppiness quickly loses its cute factor when it means my bed is soaked with pee or I get less food than I deserve. Or my favorite toy gets torn. Or my ears get hurt by her teeth. Or when… well, you get the point. But ultimately, at the end of the day—and the beginning of the next, Wilma is a great gal. I love you my little sister, Wilma Dog Dora.


Please note: Feelings expressed are valid only in the moment expressed, and the author reserves the option to change his mind later.

Oooh– and would you please VOTE FOR WILMA? Her rescue organization will get some moola if she wins.  Thanks!


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