Miss Cheyenne

On a random Saturday afternoon while getting a pedicure with friends, Steven texted me to say he had found an ad in the paper for puppies. He called them and told them we would be over that evening to look. The man said, "Well, the puppies in the ad are all gone. ...But we do have one left. We aren't sure we want to sell her, because her markings are like none we've ever seen, and we might want to breed her." Steven, true to character, pitched them an idea: "Well, can we come by and see her? Then when we get there, we can decide if you really want to get rid of her or not." And we were off.

Long story short, they put the dog in my lap, she licked my face, and she fell asleep. We had to pay extra for her, but I didn't care. Neither did Steven. He was always happy to give me anything I wanted (not that I ever asked for much...). Steven pretended to not like Cheyenne. He called her 'lucifer' or 'lucy' for short. However, there were several times I'd call his phone needing help removing her ticks and he would make a special trip home. He took her on her first trip to the vet, and she rode on his shoulder the whole way to town. When he made steaks on the grill, he'd make sure Cheyenne got to be outside with him sniffing around the grill. She got to ride in the big green jeep before I did. She loved riding on the lawn mower with him sitting under his legs. Every night, she sat on the back of the couch waiting to hear his truck pull down the lane. When she saw/heard him coming, she'd jump off and put her nose to the garage door waiting for him to walk in.

At some point during my 5hr driving escapade on 8/9, I stopped by my house to see if there was anything missing (a change of clothes, passports, etc.). The only thing changed from when I left that morning was a few half-eaten dog treats on the floor. After I left that morning, and before he left, he took time to play with Cheyenne. I don't know how long he played with her, but various toys on the floor suggest it was more than a few tosses of her ball. I don't know why that means so much to me, but it crosses my mind a lot.

The first time I took Cheyenne back to my house, she rushed in the door with her nose to the floor. She sniffed all the way through the living room, on to his recliner, in to 'her' bathroom, in to my bedroom, in to his shower (her favorite place to visit in the morning), and on to the bed. There, she sniffed until she found his pillows and blanket and laid down. I couldn't get her to move for several minutes. Finally, we shifted to the living room. I took the recliner, and she took her usual post atop the couch gazing out the window. I was heartbroken. She perked up at the sound of any vehicle driving down the road (although she could always tell if it was Steven's truck coming down the lane by the sound). When it wasn't his truck or bike, she'd plop her head down again.

We entered her picture in to the photo contest at the fair. She won one of the first place ribbons.  He was so freakin proud of that. He told everybody. Steven always won or was the best at what ever he did. It only made sense that he also had the perfect dog (even when he called her Lucifer). She's always been very protective of me. Any time Steven came to give me a hug or leaned down to kiss me, she'd bolt between us trying to figure out what was going on. I don't know if its because she wanted attention or because she didn't want to share me. Right now, she's sleeping between/on my feet. Look at how BEAUTIFUL this dog is.