Sunshine came through the windows as I laid on my bed with my two dogs this morning, waking up slowly as the day stretched before me. As always, Buddy came over from the other pillow and gave me a good morning kiss, lapping at my face with his sandpapery tongue. His kisses make me giggle every time, even though I know they're coming. I scratched behind his ears and he looked at me with big, thankful brown eyes. Lately he practically collapses against me on the bed after each kissing session; his legs are becoming more and more feeble and it's hard for him to hold himself steady on the soft mattress. It didn't help that Andy, who is much bigger than Buddy now, had found his way to the head of the bed, waiting for his turn to be loved and scratched. I thought again of how much my heart has grown because of these two dogs. Truthfully, I can't imagine life without them.
Until January of 2000, I didn't even consider myself a dog person. I had never liked the smell of any dog I'd met, and it had seemed they were far more trouble than they were worth...all that shedding hair, food and water bowls to trip over, and so on. We had taken care of a friend's very old dog for a few months that year and the kids had loved it. He had died three months previously, and the trip I was making to the shelter that cold winter day was to appease my youngsters. I was only looking, I'd kept saying to anyone who would listen. It was the kids who missed that old dog and I'd promised them I'd consider getting them a dog of their own. If, and only if, the shelter had a black lab, I'd think about it. (For some reason, I'd had it in my head that a black lab was the only proper breed for a family with young children.) Yes, I'd think about it, which for me meant going home and making a list of the pros and cons, the whys and why-nots, the projected costs, the possible obstacles, and maybe, just maybe, three or four weeks down the road, I'd make a decision.
Never in a million years would I have expected what happened next. Driving up to the shelter I had a feeling not unlike the one I have when I pull up to the grocery store...let's get in, get the unpleasant-but-necessary task over, and get out. Walking on the hard-packed snowy path towards the tired looking building, I noted the high chain-link fence and several doghouses spaced at intervals throughout the yard. I remember thinking they must have been for summertime use, when the nice folks at the shelter would bring the well-groomed pups out to play in the grassy yard. As I entered the gate, however, the noise alerted the dogs inside each and every one of those doghouses, who bounded out to the ends of their chains to jump and bark at my arrival. I couldn't believe the sheer number of them and the noise they made as they scrambled for my attention. It didn't escape me that it was freezing cold, these dogs were not the well-groomed pedigreed dogs I had pictured, and that the worn half-circles on the ground in front of their doghouses indicated that they had all been there for some time. I gasped and practically ran into the building, where I hurriedly told the woman (all in one breath) that I was there to look at black labs and black labs only, it was for my children, to replace a dog who had died, but I was sure they didn't have any black labs because, I could see, these were all abandoned dogs, so I should be on my way and I was sorry for bothering her. See, I tend to talk fast when I'm nervous and out of my element.
"Don't be nervous, now," the friendly woman said to me. "Would you believe, we actually have two black labs here at the moment." I wondered if should could tell that this was my first shelter visit. Maybe it was the wide eyes that gave me away? Whatever the case, she was as calm and slow-to-speak as I was nervous and jerky. "Why don't I take you out to meet a couple of my friends in the yard? What do you think?" "Sure," I managed to stammer. "I'd like that." Shirley, whose name I later found out, guided me on the path around each doghouse as I followed her obediently. I stopped suddenly when I saw a light-colored husky who looked just like the dog my family had owned when I was younger. I stepped toward it to pet it, when it growled and lunged toward me. I managed to step out of the chain's reach and Shirley turned back to speak to me. "Now he's not what you'd call a family dog," she said, without the admonishment I'd expected and deserved. I followed her to a faded red doghouse, where a large black dog jumped and barked with excitement. "This is Hunter," she told me. "He's a little older and very friendly." I felt timid and a little frightened as I moved closer to Hunter, who kept jumping and barking in greeting. I touched him, but he just kept going. I looked at Shirley and said, "He's nice. How about the other one?" She turned and led me about eight feet away to our right. I looked ahead and that's when I saw him...a medium sized, black dog, sitting quietly in front of his doghouse and quivering in anticipation, looking straight at me. His eyes were huge and brown and he looked so soft I wanted to touch him. Without a word I walked up to him and patted him on the head. He nuzzled my hand and without thinking about what I was doing, I knelt on one knee in front of him. He licked my face gently and backed off when I squealed in soft surprise. I kept touching him, petting him, and I couldn't take my eyes off his face. Shirley spoke softly behind me. "This is Ben. He's been here for about nine months. We expect he wandered away from his family as a pup, as young male dogs often do. We figure he's about a year old and it looks like he really likes you." I turned and looked up at her, hardly daring to breath. "Can I take him?" I asked in a near-whisper. "I mean...can I adopt him?"
And, as they say, the rest is history. Thirty minutes later, I had filled out the paperwork and paid the adoption fees. Shirley had instructed me on how to care for the frostbite my new dog had on his ears and paw and provided me with the name of a vet she trusted. She gave me a squeaky toy, a collar and leash, and a gallon sized baggie of dog food to start us off with, and she wished us well. On the way to the car, it occurred to me that I was a DOG OWNER. An official, certified, bona fide, leash-toting, owner of a canine. And he was getting into the back seat of my little Dodge Neon and going home with ME. And he didn't stink, he was adorable and I just knew I was going to love him. Truth is, I didn't even know about love for an animal until I loved Buddy. (I renamed him on the way home as I kept finding myself talking to him and adding "Right, little Buddy?" on the end of every sentence. Anyways, who names a dog Ben?) Buddy showed me right away how gentle and funny a dog can be, and he taught me about trust and loyalty. We walked every day and I learned that dogs have their own way of communicating. He learned basic commands quickly, was housebroken from Day 1, and hardly ever barked. Over the years, I've had happy times playing with Buddy, and he's been there for me to hug and cry with in sad times. We've laughed many times over the years about the fact that I was going to look at a dog "for the kids" and he ended up being my companion. When I became separated, Buddy took up the passenger side of my bed like a champ and he's there like a good friend every night. Two years ago in April, we went back to the shelter and found Buddy a playmate, Andy, who is as gentle as he is. They both sleep on my bed every night, they lie next to me at the table, and both would protect me with their lives if they had to.
You might be wondering how my thoughts landed here today as I sat down to write. Honestly, I didn't set out to write about a dog adoption story, but that it came out doesn't surprise me. Buddy's declining health has been heavy on my mind lately, and I know his days are numbered. I'm enjoying every moment I can with him, while watching him for signs of pain or distress. In August of 2010 Buddy had a large tumor on his leg and I thought I'd have to say goodbye then, but surgery delayed my fears. I've been grateful for this extra time and I can't imagine letting go of this dog, this being who has taught me so much about life and love. It will be sad for me, and for my children, who have grown up with Buddy as their childhood companion. And of course Andy will be affected. He doesn't even like to go outside without his brother, and I know he'll be lost without him. And so it is, that after a lot of deliberation and prayer on my part, I'm embarking on a new journey at the end of this month. I'll be picking up a new puppy on March 31st. A friend of mine just so happens to have a litter of eight puppies who need homes. I held my breath when I called her to ask, "Do you have any males?" and "Are any of them brindle colored?" When the answers were "yes" and "yes" I took that as my go-ahead from the universe. It's time. I was going to wait until I was down to one dog, but I can't do it. I can't let Andy be alone, even for one day. I know I'm trying to ease the heartbreak that will surely come anyway, but I'm hoping that another canine soul will be salve for our wounds. I also want Buddy to meet this new boy who will be around when he isn't, to impart his wisdom and instructions for this pup who will try to fill his shoes. It seems that we'll be a three-dog family for a while, and that's okay with me. Spring is coming and we'll all be able to play outside in our grassy, fenced-in yard as this new chapter begins.
