The Summer day was hot and sticky as my family and I rode in our 2003 Ford Windstar. The van was originally a pure white color, but time and dirt had made it resemble a color closer to bone than to white. I sat in the lone seat in the back. I had not done so by choice, though. My newest sibling, Ella, needed a car seat. Therefore, she had first dibs on the driver side seat in the front. My other sibling, Laura, would usually make a fuss if she didn’t get her way. It wasn’t her fault, however, she was only two years old. This behavior was normal for children her age. Since, I didn’t really care where I sat, I took the backseat. Although, I didn’t have much of a choice.

Overhead, a Thomas the Tank Engine VHS played on the screen that hung between Laura and Ella, and just behind the heads of my mom and dad. My mother had put it in, per my request. My mom sat in the passenger seat, smiling as she knew exactly where we were going. She and my dad had made sure not to make any comments to their three children about what was happening. They had always been a fan of surprises and that wasn’t letting up now. My dad was completely focused on the road. He had his left hand on the steering wheel at the ten o’clock position while his right hand rested on his right thigh. He was wearing sunglasses around his slowly balding head as there had been clear skies all day. Since we lived East of town, the nearly setting sun was in our faces. As we drove into town the sun became a little less bright due to the many houses and trees that blocked it out.

I didn’t realize we were even in town as my eyes were in a trance on the VHS screen. A sharper than usual right turn broke my daze. I asked in a high-pitched voice, “Mom…where are we going?” I figured that we were just going on a little ride like dad would always make us do after church on Sunday, but today was not Sunday, and the route was not typical of him to take. “You will see.” My mother replied. We suddenly pulled up in front of a house as my dad curb-side parked. In the front yard I could see two people, a man and a woman, sitting in lawn chairs. As I looked closer I saw that in between them there was a small, white cage, and in that cage, I could see what looked like a hundred puppies scurrying around. Instantly my excitement increased.

After my mom took out both of my sisters and helped me unbuckle, I rushed out of the car. I remembered at school the teacher saying that you should always ask before you pet the owner’s dog. So, I shyly walked over to the lady on the left and asked, “Is it okay if I play with your puppies?” to which she responded, “Sure! Go right ahead!” She helped me step over the cage as I was too short to reach my leg over. As soon as I sat down, I was smothered by 8 brown puppies. I giggled with laughter. I always loved dogs and I always asked my parents for one. Although, I only asked because that’s what the kids on the cartoons did all the time. I didn’t really know what it meant to “have a dog”.

After a few minutes, my dad said, “So what do you say kids? Which one are we picking out?” Laura finally stopped running away from the one that was chasing her around and told our dad that she wanted that one. My dad looked at her skeptically, “Are you sure that’s the one? How about we look around a little bit longer.” And so we did. As I looked at the crowd of puppies that were at my feet, one stuck out to me. This puppy was different from all the rest. All of them looked the same. Brown fur all the way around with a little bit of white underneath. But this puppy, this puppy had a small, white spot on the back of her neck. “What about this one, daddy?” I asked, “This one’s got a spot on it. See look!” I showed him the dog and he picked it up with genuine interest. The man chimed in and said, “Oh, we call that one spot. Sometimes boxers will develop those when they’re younger, but it will more than likely go away when she gets older.” And that’s what stuck out to me. The name Spot had a sort of magnetism towards my brain. In my mind it was the perfect dog name, and due to my 4-year-old logic, it must be the perfect dog. “Dad, I really really really want that one.” I told him. I think my dad knew it too. It had to be the one. So, my parents paid the man and the woman, and we headed home.        

As we went up the hill to our house, our dad turned to us with the blood orange sunset as a backdrop, and said, “Now guys when we let Spot out, you can’t let her go up or down the stairs. Got it?” I nodded obediently. I could hardly contain my excitement. The van pulled into our left garage. We all left the vehicle and quickly walked to the door. Laura carried Spot over to the doorway. She was already squirming in her arms as she wanted ever so badly to explore her new environment. As soon as Laura let her go, she bolted through our mudroom and into our kitchen. She did a couple laps around the island counter while me and Laura were screaming with laughter. My parents, however, showed true concern. After running the puppy equivalent of a mile, she dashed to the stairs leading upstairs. My parents told us to stop her as they were handling Ella at that moment. So, we quickly followed her. Once we arrived at the bottom of the stairs we saw quite a sight. There Spot was, at least attempting to climb the stairs. She took one big leap, placed her front paws and her head on the top of the stair, and then wiggled her back paws up with her, only to repeat the process once again. Instead of stopping her, we stared at this adorable sight and found humor in it as we started to giggle. Finally, after hearing my dad yell at us to get her down from there again, Laura grabbed her and brought her back to the living room. Spot continued to run around until she got tired out and then she curled up right under the T.V. to take a nap. I went and sat by her and petted her back. Later that year, we would name her Zoe and from that point on, I knew that Zoe was a part of our family. Through the years I would always look back at the day we accepted Zoe as a part of our family.