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How We Met?
My Cocker Spaniel, Sebastian, died on my birthday. Of course one would be sad but I fell into a deep depression. My parents offered me a proposition. If I could find a dog whose poop was no bigger than the size of the tip of the pinky finger then I could purchase it. Once I found a breeder, which they thought I wouldn't, another stipulation came up. I had to find $350 to pay for her. So I took it out of my savings account. We went to the breeder’s house in Aylett, VA. I, of course, picked the runt of the litter, but her size and possible medical issues wasn't why I couldn't give her up. It was because she had a single marking on her neck running down to her torso. It was the number 7. I was born on the seventh. I felt that we were meant to be. She never had any medical problems and quickly became head of the household. She still holds that position.