Potential Approaches
I saw Lincoln and Bernie out the Chipotle window. I had my eyes peeled for a wiener dog to include in my collection of photos, and they were just perfect. I snatched my camera and dashed out, abandoning my bowl.
“Excuse me, excuse me. I’m working on a piece featuring dogs and their owners. Can I take your picture”
I adore Dachshunds. I have t-shirts and posters of them on my walls. I have my future dachshund’s names picked out: Swamp and Bog. My first dog’s name is Puddle, and I want to keep with the uncommon water theme.
Dear Santa. Between November and December of third grade, I opened countless letters just like that. I was writing multiple letters a week at my peak. I asked Santa if he would like to be my pen pal. In each correspondence, I begged and pleaded for a dog. When I walked down the staircase Christmas morning to no puppy, I was heartbroken. How could Santa have failed me. It turned out he hadn’t. In an unassuming envelope, I opened a note promising to get a dog in the next year. Next September, my family drove two hours to pick up Puddle.
I expected to miss more than I have since leaving home. I love my family, friends, Pittsburgh, and my own blankets. I cherish calls with my parents and friends, but they don’t elicit feelings of homesickness like I expected. I am excited to hear about the wonderful happenings in their lives. One element of home I miss is Puddle. Puddle is my first dog, a ten-year-old Vizsla. We can’t call or text, so I’m just left to remember her silky ginger fur.
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