Rescue Dog

I took Jazzy for a walk the other day and came across an old man walking his dog.  Since Jazzy is a little rude to other dogs when we go on walks, I usually cross the street so Jazzy doesn't have a chance to be rude.  The old man didn't let the distance stop a conversation from happening.  Here was our exchange:

Old Man: What kind of dog is your dog?

Me: Some kind of terrier mix.  I'm not really sure since she's a rescue dog.  What is your dog?  

Old Man: She's a rescue dog, too.  She rescued me.  

Jazzy's a rescue dog in more ways than one.  Yes, Adam and I rescued Jazzy because she needed a home. But really, Jazzy's the one who rescued us.

Jazzy came into our lives when we really needed her.  I don't think we really knew how much we needed Jazzy, but somehow she ended up with us when we needed her most.  She helped fill the holes that we both had in our hearts from losing our baby.  

There is so much stinking love in her sweet face when she looks up at us.  And in the way she wags her whole body when we come home.  And in the way she sneaks in a kiss when I'm not paying attention.  And in the way she nestles in next to me on the couch.  

I can't begin to explain how much I love Jazzy and how thankful I am that she's a part of my life.  I know Adam feels the same way.  It warms my heart and just about makes me cry when I catch him talking to her.  Or when he gets down on the floor to play with her.  Or when he bends down to let her kiss him on the cheek when he comes home from work before he puts down any of his stuff.  

I know Jazzy's just a dog, but she's a member of our family.  She's our baby.  

Okay, I must end this post before I turn into more of a blubbering mess than I already am.