I knew Sam was ours the first time I saw his peanut head on his gigantic body on the rescue website. Sean wasn't even home. He was in Florida, traveling for work, when I called him and told him I found OUR dog. THEE one. We were still living in our condo--sans furniture--and waiting for our house closing, which was pushed back so many times that we were fearful that we might end up homeless for a few days once our lease was up. But this was OUR dog. Nothing else mattered. He had to be ours. I sent Sean a cell phone picture and he agreed that Sam was the dog for us.
I believe Sean was still in Florida, or maybe he was at work, when I went to the kennel to visit Sam. He had been transported up north from our favorite rescue agency but was in boarding as he didn't have a foster to take him. I took a video of my first visit with Sam to show to Sean.
I still to this day get sad when I hear the woman who works at the kennel say, "Santa hasn't come yet!" You can bet we spoiled the shit out of that dog on his first Christmas with us.
Happy Gotcha Day, boy.