In August 2010 my family adopted the black-lab mix, Annabelle. My family had just moved back from the Phillippines, our old faithful black lab from childhood had died in 2008, and in the midst of my family moving back, I wanted a dog. Nevermind I was leaving the country in a month's time. So my mother, being the most excellent woman that she is, prayed that if we were meant to have a dog, someone would ask us if we wanted one. Lo and behold, a week later Andrew (owner of Annabelle's sandy-colored playmate, Sam) drove by and asked mama if we wanted a black lab. We were told it was full-blood pedigree and was going to the pound and a puppy.
When we arrived, Annabelle was tied to a post and had obviously been tied there most of her life. She was so eager for attention, she peed in her excitement for someone to pet her. We expected a puppy-- she was 6 months old. We expected a full-blood lab. Mama, who nearly became a vet, could tell by looking at her, that certainly was not the case. She was gangly, all legs. And she was going to the pound.
She was named Annabelle when we took her home, and it just seemed to fit, though Prancer might have been more accurate. When we got her, she would go to pieces the minute she wasn't with us. I'm still not certain she thinks she is a dog, as whenever she is with us, she wants to be outside, and whenever she is outside, she wants to be with us. We're not sure she realized she wasn't human. But then, Sam came along, and they got on like a house on fire.
Sam and Annabelle are of similar height and weight, and most mornings, they go on walks together. In the afternoons, Sam will come by for a play-romp with Annabelle, and they are rough! They play chase, Sam will gnash her teeth and try to get Annabelle's collar. Annabelle will pin Sam down. After a few minutes, both dogs will suddenly stop, and look up at us, as if to ask, "Is this okay? Is this what you want us to do?"
