The Furry A-Team

“Was this the face that launch’d a thousand ships. . .”

– Christopher Marlowe

Born to a feral mother with a litter of seven in a derelict horse stall that had been repurposed as a wood storage pile, this is the story of how one became three. 

Mia
Initially, only one had my claim. The tiny runt that no one else wanted for the simple fact that no one found her “pretty.” She wasn’t the ginger tabby or her two midnight brothers and she didn’t have the colorful calico markings that adorned the remainder of her siblings. She looked like a tuft of dull brown with a fat, round tummy and a smudge of red on her forehead. 

She was “mi hija – mija,” my little one, “mi amore.” While her littermates played in groups of two or three, tumbling around the wood pile on shaky newborn legs, I would find her off somewhere by herself happily rolling in the dirt. She was . . . different. And I loved her. 

“O, thou art fairer than the evening air. . .”

-Christopher Marlowe

Emma
“The queen” was later bequeathed to me when the teenage claims to “her royal highness” crumbled against the parental reaction of horror that tends to follow the announcement, “Mom! Dad! I’m getting a kitten!!” 

She was lanky and devious and had all the markings that classify as “beautiful” to the common eye. Practicing evil from conception, she would toddle along, plotting to take over the world. She was bold when others were shy and she was deeply devoted to her mother, (although the sentiment was not returned). 

Her defining moment came one chilly morning when she navigated seemingly insurmountable odds on her unstable kitten legs and painstakingly climbed up. . . and up. . . and up. . . up the precarious heights of the tall wood pile. . . just to cuddle against the warmth and comfort of her mother, who sat aloof above the reach of her other kittens. 

And so she would also come to me, again and again and again, climbing into my lap or onto my legs, to share my warmth and linger in all things comfortable. As is befitting of a queen. And I loved her. 

Together, at nine weeks old, the three of us would journey to a new life and a new home in a new state. In the days and months and years that followed, those girls became my anchor to the here and now. They would save me over and over again with their antics, pulling me out of despair with tiny paws, undaunted exuberance, long naps together, and the heart-melting adorableness that comes from witnessing a snoring kitten. 

They slept on me, played on me, and tumbled their way into my heart. Polar opposites. Furry yin and yang. And somehow. . . I was lucky enough to end up in the middle of so much joy. 

Today, Mia still sleeps at night between the pillows near my left shoulder, purring into my ear and reaching out a paw to touch my face when I move. Emma is forever finding ways to curl up on my legs, my lap, my chest, or any crook of my body that will suit her royal needs. 

Mia is squishy and round, full of instinct and undeniable love. Emma is lean and confident and utterly domestic, relentlessly seeking attention and stealing my chair. We have journeyed across the country together, shared countless views and hours of cuddles. They are my heart. My home. My love. 

And then there were three. . .

“Brighter art thou than flaming Jupiter. . .”

– Christoper Marlowe

Archer
The story of his past is one of abandonment and heartache. Raised by a man he bonded deeply with, Archer was left when his human was in crisis. Passed from hand to hand and home to home while still a young dog, everywhere he ended up he was unwanted. He was “too big, too energetic,” and “too much” in general. No one could “deal” with him. 

So he went to a hoarder home to be left outside in the desert heat with more than a dozen other malnourished dogs. 

It was sometime in April when I got the call. I wasn’t looking to rescue a dog. But I had the house, the yard, the space, and the time. As these things happen, a person of a person of a friend called the right contact and that person called me. Saved from his situation, all attempts to find him a home had failed and he was going to be dropped at the shelter the next morning. Could I take him? I said, “Yes.”

That afternoon, the biggest long-haired German Shepherd I had ever seen came crashing through my front door. He was a neurotic mess of matted hair and bones that weighed twenty pounds less than he should. He was chaos incarnate. He blasted through the house without even a glance at me, sniffing and racing around and reassuring me that I was in WAY over my head. 

In those first few days, I did everything wrong. 

None of the limited training and experience I had regarding dogs applied to Archer. I tried to bond with him by sitting down and brushing him, not realizing how much he hates being groomed. The fancy bag of dog food Archer came with gave him the runs. The large metal kennel that had been dropped off with him as well was an interesting adventure of terror for both of us. (I tried exactly ONCE to calm him by putting him in the kennel and the wailing alone was enough to deter me from shutting him in a small, enclosed area ever again). 

What Archer NEEDED was simple. He needed love and structure. After a few weeks of online searching for tips and a couple desperate calls to a local dog trainer, Archer’s true nature began to emerge. Eager to learn, fun to train, and passionately loyal, this handsome boy quickly became the companion that I couldn’t imagine life without. 

Archer looks tough, (and he is), but he is also a deeply sensitive soul with a caring heart that is just as abnormally large as he is. He simultaneously embodies the essence of a stoic protector and the eternal youthfulness of a puppy. He is a master at sensing positive and negative energy and is friendly to all who are deserving of his kindness. 

In less than a month of Archer galloping into my life, he began to intuitively sense my needs and started making adjustments with his actions. I had a host of medical conditions that had rendered me “disabled” and Archer naturally knew how to help. Together, we would begin training as a Service Dog team, during which his talents continued to surface and shine. After a year of training, (most of which was for me, not him), Archer officially became my Service Dog and we have been side-by-side ever since. 

He loves snow, rolling in green grass, playing in all types of water, and porch sitting with me. We have explored countless trails, wandered down numerous dirt roads, and hiked through a variety of woodlands. Archer is always up for an adventure and his endless energy keeps me going. He is a huge fan of sticks, (the bigger the better), his ball, and his squeaky duck-duck. But most of all, he enjoys being with me. And I love him. 

Together, The Furry A-Team is my primary foundation of support. The girls gave me a reason to live. Archer gave me a reason to get up each day. Without them, I would be lost. With them, I am found. If all the world around me falls to pieces, I have them. 

They are my joy, my strength, my motivation, and my laughter. They are my “reason.” And I love them. More than words can say.

“And I will combat with weak Menelaus, and wear thy colours on my plumed crest. . . And none but thou shalt be my paramour“

– Christopher Marlowe