High Heel Advocates

Because I am an advocate of incredibly high heels and oversized sunglasses, my mother always assumed I’d buy a puppy small enough to fit into the tiniest wristlet. Over Christmas break I told my mother I was ready to become a mother, I was ready for a dog of my own. Slightly surprised yet supportive, she said she and my father would talk it over.

After saying yes, my parents took me to look at purebred toy poodles. I instantly fell in love. They were the perfect size, wouldn’t weigh over five pounds at the most. I held the runt, a beautiful baby girl and began to fantasize about names and different outfits she would love. The shock came when I heard an outrageous $1,500 price tag came with the big, loveable, puppy dog eyes. Completely shocked and speechless I silently nodded, placed my ex-future dog back on the floor and exited her Victorian style home.

“Time for an alternative,” I told my mother.

Once back home, I talked things over with my dad and he brought my attention toward something I hadn’t thought of yet: adoption. The next four days, literally days, were spent on PetFinder.com, searching for dogs matching what I wanted and filling out adoption forms. When none of the adoptions came through, I decided to ride around town and visit several shelters in the area.

The first stop I made was Solutions For Animals in Southern Pines, North Carolina. All the dogs I saw at first were huge, and older, not what I wanted at all. I asked someone in charge if there were any puppies for adoption, and I was led to a tiny room filled with playful babies. In the back right corner I spotted one who seemed to be a wallflower.

I immediately asked who the golden one in the corner was, and I was told, “Ohh, that’s our Tinkerbelle. She’s quite the popular one with our guests.” I ran over to her side and couldn’t restrain myself from picking her up.

I thought of a dozen questions to ask. What kind of dog was she? How old was she? Why would someone leave this beautiful baby here? How much was she? Was she spayed? However, the only question that exploded from my mouth was, “Daddy!! Can I have her?” The owner of the shelter giggled and said, “Why don’t you and your father come out to the picnic tables so we can discuss Miss Tink?” I obediently followed the woman, while Tinkerbelle obediently followed me.

I was told all the facts about my newest love interest. She was a nine-month-old, Beagle/Cocker Spaniel mix who had been brought to the shelter two months prior. I was told her previous owner worked full-time and went to school part-time and kept Tinkerbelle locked in a tiny, dark, storage closet while she was gone. I also learned Tinkerbelle couldn’t bark or jump--she had been kicked or hit anytime she attempted either; she also was shy since not having any interaction with animals or humans. I didn’t care about her flaws; all I saw was her potential to be my little girl. I filled out the adoption forms and was promised Tinkerbelle would be mine within the week.

Once I had my baby, there was a desperate need for a name change. I didn’t want anyone to associate my precious pup with Paris Hilton's. I dropped off the unnecessary Tinker, and call her Belle now. Belle is adjusting to life in my Wilmington apartment with my two roommates and me. She still can’t jump and won’t bark, but she’s learning how to be loved and sit still for her pedicures.

There are so many dogs that need homes that I now find it terribly silly to have considered a purebred. Although Belle wasn’t raised to be a show dog and won’t fit into any purse of mine, I know we are meant to be. She spends her free time lounging in my closet, so I know she’s just as big of an advocate of incredibly high heels as I am.