Three years ago, I lost Lola, the dog of my life. She was a 7-pound bundle of joy that had the power to fill my love-tank with nothing but the wag of her tail. She shadowed my every move, to the point I felt I had physically lost part of my body when she left the world.
Unable to bring her back, I went on a mad hunt to find a dog that, at least, looked like Lola. Friends warned me that I was setting myself up for the greatest letdown, yet I refused to stop the search.
And then it happened. One night while on a work assignment in Sweden, a dog appeared on Facebook that looked a little like Lola. The only caveat was that “she” was a “he” and the single photo was blurry, oh, and the dog lived in Mexico. My poor husband had suffered with me, doing all he could to heal my shattered soul. Thus, he caved into my begging and pleading, and that night, drove to the Tijuana border at 11 o’clock for a dog we had never met.
