I’m a dog person—unless I have a cat, in which case I’m more of a cat person. My last cat, Dashi, disappeared in a strange accident: he somehow crawled into our car, rode with us to the grocery store without anyone noticing, slipped out, ran away, and never returned. It was heartbreaking, especially for my son Bryen, who was only four at the time. After that loss we waited a long time before getting another pet, and when the time felt right we decided on a dog.
From the start I wanted a pug. Friends of ours had one and he seemed like the perfect companion. Then we met another couple who had two pugs and I fell completely in love. As soon as Paul agreed it was time, I found Gizmo—and the whole process took maybe a day.
I picked him up on a pouring, muddy day at a country house that was hard to find. I’d hoped for a girl but they only had two males left. The moment I met him he ran straight to me, looked up into my face, then trotted over to the newspaper on the floor, did his business, and trotted back. It was like he was saying, “Look what I can do!” His littermate whined and barked, but Gizmo’s calm, adoring face melted my heart. Then they told me he was born on my birthday—and that sealed it.
I brought him home in a laundry basket lined with soft towels and cuddled him for hours. When Paul came in he laughed because I had fallen for him so fast. That first night when I moved his crate into our bedroom he started snoring. Paul asked if he would do that all night—yes, he did. After that the crate stayed downstairs, but Paul and Gizmo bonded quickly and deeply.
Choosing his name was a group effort that didn’t go well at first—our friends’ suggestions at the holiday party were pretty awful. The next day, while giving him belly rubs, I noticed his ears flop back and his face split into an ear-to-ear grin. He looked just like the Gremlin from the movie, so Gizmo it was.
Gizmo has always loved food and was endlessly curious as a puppy—especially about my houseplants. His destructive curiosity took about a year to calm down. Over time he mellowed, but he kept his goofy expressions and affectionate habits. A few years later his face got a little grayer, but his personality stayed the same.
He’s collected a long list of nicknames over the years—Giz, Gizzy, Gizzard, Giz the Wiz (thanks to Bryen), Ningy, Ning, Chunky-Loo, Lala, Tank (Paul’s name for him), and Goofy Nut. We love him to the moon.
Now twelve years old, Gizmo moves a little slower and can no longer leap onto the couch, so Paul built him a small set of stairs. He still follows me everywhere, even into the bathroom, and stations himself at the kitchen entrance hoping for dropped crumbs. He keeps a tidy stack of favorite blankets by my desk where he naps while I work on the blog. He’s quiet company—a loyal, snoring, crumb-hunting companion who brightens everyday life.
