She’s not a puppy anymore, but she’s still my baby

Before I met her, my life was all about me. Beyond a few bills, I didn’t have much responsibility.

And then there was the unexpected housewarming gift. A boxer named Charli Brown. With her pig snout, heartbreaking brown eyes and perfect frown, how could I resist her? I hadn’t even unpacked my posh downtown apartment when the 8-week old puppy came into my life and turned things upside down.

Cable cords, remote controls, Steve Madden loafers, a box of crayons — she ate them all.

There was a time when I would mourn over shoes and premier channels. Instead, after every disaster, my first concern was her. I’d interrupt my busy days to come home every few hours and walk her, play with her and get to know the sassy, four-legged diva.

I took her to brunch with the girls and to yappy hours meant for pampering pets and their parents. I was proud of her when she graduated from puppy kindergarten, started to behave in doggy day care and eventually learned to quit treating my apartment as one big chew toy.

She turned me into one of those dog people who coo over their pets as if they were a child. Only I became her student. She taught me to look beyond myself, have patience and to not place so much importance on things that can be replaced. I could get new Steve Madden loafers but another Charli Brown? Not likely.

At 4 years old and 80 pounds, she’s a far cry from the pig-faced cutie I met many summers ago.

I don’t know when it happened, but my baby is no longer a pup. She’s a dog, all grown up.

These days, she gets winded after 30 minutes of play. All she needs is two walks a day. I remember when she wanted six. And although she has full run of the apartment, the carpet still looks new. The only toys she chews are her own.

Funny how time flies. I don’t even recognize the girl I was when we first met. New to having a steady paycheck and few bills, I used to shop and run around the city like a rock star. Shiny new things like an iPod or Nintendo DS Lite were well-earned toys, and going out to eat was a weekly thing.

Now, I give myself an allowance and live on a budget. The last toy I got was an iPhone, and partying is a scheduled event. When I come home from work or catch a bad day, I look forward to lying on the couch with this big ol’ boxer at my feet.

On those days, she reminds me that getting older doesn’t mean giving up the fun. I crack open the door and she rushes me, begging for attention. We do a little doggy dance. We play fetch, eat some chips and play a game of chase.

Just like that, with a wag of her short tail and a stolen kiss, I am brand new.

Jeneé Osterheldt’s column runs in FYI on Monday, Wednesday and Saturday. To reach her, call 816-234-4380 or send e-mail to josterheldt@kcstar.com.

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