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You know the story of Carlie if you read yesterday's post.
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When I made the decision to get a new dog I was open to many breeds. Truthfully my first choice was another Great Dane, but I was not ready to make peace yet with the short life span. I have always loved big blocky headed english labs. I went back and forth many times between yellow and chocolate. I read about them, researched them, talked to people who had them, etc and ultimately decided on a chocolate.
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Enter: Jack.
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We got Jack in June of 2008. He was much anticipated and planned for, yet none of the three of us had any inkling of what we were in for. If you read our family blog you have a tiny idea of what it has been like for me to be Jack's owner.
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This dog has been a serious commitment for me in many, many ways. At times I thought he was going to end me. There were a few times when I am embarrassed to say that he actually brought me to tears in my frustration with him; times when I didn't think I'd be able to keep him; that I was sacrificing the safety of my children in owning him; that I made a mistake in getting a dog; that he was put on this earth to make me miserable. He has been a serious challenge in ways that unless you have owned a difficult, bull-headed, raging male wanna-be-alpha-dog, you cannot relate to. I did not know or understand the trials of a difficult dog until Jack.
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I could write pages about Jack in terms of the awful stuff he has done; the thousands of dollars that he cost me in vet bills alone in his first year of life, not to mention the hefty price I paid for him (many times I felt like someone should have paid me to take this dog) and the boot camp I sent him to; the fact that the first and I mean FIRST time he sat long enough to pat him was at the age of 10 months and the kids and I looked at each other thinking he must be desperately sick or something because.......WHY WAS HE JUST SITTING THERE??!!...we'd never seen it before; the fact that he has an unknown environmental allergy to some sort of grass or plant (hello, he's a dog, can you imagine what this is like?); his chronic ear infections; his pica problem- pica is the act of eating unnatural things- in Jack's case his weakness is rocks; on and on people, on and on. Jack has been a challenging animal.
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But this story has a happy resolution- Jack and I are friends now. He has grown leaps and bounds in terms of his bad behavior. He is still a constant handful. He is rough and tumble and in need of constant supervision. If he was a person he'd be.....a Mike Tyson sort of guy, complete with the ear-biting tendencies. But I love him now. And that's saying a lot. Jack and I have come a long way and our story is one that gives me little bits of satisfaction...pebbles....and confidence that someday he will actually be the constant easy-going companion that I had hoped for. We are on our way.
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I am actually telling you about Jack for a reason that pertains to the topic of this blog.
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About a month ago I was searching for something in my bedside table. I came across a book that I had long forgotten about. When I saw the cover I felt that familiar twinge of sadness that strikes often and out of the blue. This is the book I found:

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"Great" I thought, "Do I want to look at this?" I wondered if I was brave enough to read what I had written inside, knowing the words in there were from a different Robin- one that did not know the destruction and pain and loss that lay ahead of her. I am often (painfully) captivated by pictures or videos or writings that were "pre-accident". I look at my face in pictures and I wish I could warn that girl that I see what was going to happen. I look at other people pictured with Joe and I think of how none of us knew what lay ahead. It's a weird feeling. If we could only have those moments back. If we had known then what we know now.
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I sat and looked at the cover of the book and remembered when Joe gave it to me. I felt the same way I always do when I come across stuff like this- intensely and deeply sad. I pulled open the cover and an envelope was tucked between the pages.
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Princess Robin. A name semi-mockingly given to me by my father that was carried on by my husband. Princess Robin.......the name of the girl in the pictures pre-July 25, 2007.
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I opened the envelope and pulled out the card that was inside. I was instantly struck by the irony of what I was holding: A cut-out card in the exact shape of my current puppy.
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Joe and I did not talk about having a chocolate lab. He gave me this book and card after returning home from a trip. I can't remember where he went or for what reason.

I opened the card and read his words to me.

I know that when Joe gave me this book I loved it. I don't care if he searched it out or picked it up at the airport on his way home. What matters to me is the words he took the time to write. I remember what specific goal he is speaking of, but the fact that he encompassed not just that goal but all that I wanted in life is such a gift- it was back then, and it is now.

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