Canine rescue organizations (and those who have had dogs) warn us about the time, the expense and the energy, especially with a puppy. For me, the drudgery pales to more important long-term considerations.
A few months ago, when I finally decided not to adopt, I wrote “Stepping into Someone Else’s Paws. Writing gave me closure on a months-long period of rumination.* My point was that living with dog is no less a relationship than with a person.
Would we click? How would we negotiate my space? What did I need to give of myself? What about him/her would make me happy in return?
I’d knew I’d be in that relationship, for better and worse, ’til death do us part. But if the puppy and I had that chemistry, whatever I spent — in dollars, time, or energy — would be well worth it. Our bond would blossom into a deeply satisfying, affectionate, joyful and life-affirming connection. Indeed, a recent New York Times article noted that dog owners have healthier hearts. We also have fuller hearts.
Because I’ve had two dogs in my adult life, I knew when I wrote that post last July that my next dog would not matter more than my beloveds. But that being would be right up there — not human but in a category of its own.
As one dog owner reminded me when I first adopted Bogey, “Each one is different but they are all special.” And each of these was…
Bogey died a year-and-a-half ago.
I kept saying that the “right” dog would somehow come into my life.
And now he has. His name is Rocky, and it was love at first sight. I looked in his eyes and knew he was the one. I heard him whisper in my ear, “Mommy take me home.” The video above was taken minutes after we met.
Rocky was born somewhere in Ohio. Unwanted because he couldn’t reproduce (undescended testicles), he was one of several dozen rescues loaded onto a van bound for an “adoption event” in Brooklyn. Because he was a last-minute addition, his photo wasn’t on the In Our Hands Rescue website. I spotted him in a volunteer’s arms. “He’s our mystery pup.”
Yesterday was our one-week anniversary and his 12-week birthday. He might be a parti poodle or a poo mix. It doesn’t matter. I’m not allergic to him, and he’ll be portable — the vet estimates 8 pounds — a must in my peripatetic existence. Most important, as my dear departed friend Zelda (who almost made it to 105) might have put it: “He is delicious.”
I can’t say we know each other yet. But in this short time, this 3-pound-4-ounce toddler dog and I have indeed “clicked.” He has already become my housemate, my companion, and a joy.
From our first day of cohabitation, Rocky eased into my home. We belonged together. (It didn’t hurt that he slept through the night!)
Der mentsch tracht un Gott lacht — man plans and God laughs. My grandparents sometimes spoke Yiddish so the kinder wouldn’t understand, but I never learned the language. I can’t pronounce the words and have no idea whether the spelling is right. Still, I write it, because the phrase resonates.
In AA, they proffer similar advice, “Let go and let God.” I couldn’t.
Instead, I took the wheel. I tried to make a next dog happen — in my way and on my time table. And as soon as I stopped trying, I found the dog of my dreams.
Lesson learned. Lucky me.
Such a good summary and explanation about the 3 important canines in your life.
And, you, not a dog lover. Therefore, your appreciation means that much more to me!