Ok, it’s time you know the truth. Mommy and daddy met in jail. At least that’s what we like to tell people. Daddy was a corrections officer and I was a counselor at a jail in West Virginia. We met in October 2001 (I think) and the rest is, well, the topic of future blogs.
I got a new job and moved to Kentucky to be near daddy since daddy got a new job at a prison. We moved to a tiny apartment in August 2003 and lived there for a year. In May 2004, we tied the knot. In August 2004, the first of you came along.
It was one week before we were to move out of the apartment into our house. Granted, this wasn’t a NEW house, but it was new to us. And it was about 1500 sq ft bigger than the tiny apartment. We had been searching online for the perfect addition to the family, and thought we finally found “the one” near Louisa, Kentucky. We set out one day to find “the one”, only to get lost for over an hour, drive in the total opposite direction, and almost miss your foster mom when we got there. She was putting her real kids in the car to go feed their horses, but we parked behind her in the driveway and she couldn’t leave.
We knew what we had come for. He was medium-sized, chocolate brown, and full of energy. Oh… full of energy. Nope, not what we wanted. Foster mom introduced us to you… “Duke”. Foster mom opened the gate and off you ran, just like a racehorse at the starting gate. You ran, and ran, and ran, and… well, you get the idea. Dad was worried that you wouldn’t come back, but foster mom was right, you just wanted to stretch your legs.
At the time, you were about 70 lbs and a little skinny. You and dad took up the whole back seat of the car and wrestled the whole way home – about an hour.
We had a major problem on the way home, though. You were not a “Duke”. Not Duke. Not Fuzzy, Fido, Spot, Scrappy, or any other common name that someone would have given you. But who did you look like? What was your personality going to be like? After a while in the back seat with dad you calmed down a bit. I’m sure you hadn’t been on many car rides, and the ones that you had been on probably didn’t result in positive experiences. Still, you needed a new name. To this day, dad claims that he came up with it, but I think it was me. Anyway, you were bestowed with “Newman”. You didn’t look like Newman from Seinfeld, but the name seemed to fit. And dad and I get to say, “Hello…. Newman” every day when we come home.
The first week with us was spent in that tiny apartment. You were a whopping 70 lbs, but probably should have been at least 100. You were way too skinny for your own good. But, considering the size of the apartment, you were perfect.
Many days and nights (well, ok… a week of days and nights) were spent taking you out to potty as soon as you were finished eating and walking around until you did the doodie. We weren’t allowed to have pets in the apartment, so we couldn’t take the chance of you making a potty on the carpet and losing our security deposit.