The moment I first met you, you
looked me square in the eye and promptly shat on the floor. It would have been rude of me to not
notice that your efforts looked precisely like The Blob. Honestly, Steve McQueen would have led
dozens of teenagers shrieking in the opposite direction if they'd watched it
spread and creep towards the wall as I did. While the overwhelming stench of your accomplishment brought
tears to my eyes, no one else in the room even seemed to notice. Everyone’s tails just kept wagging, including
mine I suppose.
Your fetid fecal triumph didn’t
even register a look of relief across your adorable puppy face. Your four tiny paws tracked through
your own butt sick in a scramble to vault over the half door to greet me on the
other side. The other dogs in your
litter were awarded shimmering brown clumps in their fur as you utilized them
as a step stool, trying to reach far enough to kiss me on the lips. That was when I knew you were mine: any
dog that was willing to slap his sister across the face with his own shit was
the kind of dog for me.
As soon as I could find a
shelter volunteer in the maze of barking also-rans, I called her over to
introduce me to you, my intended.
Leaning her mop against an indentation in the cinderblock wall, she
wiped at her face with the back of her hand, which implied contamination. After Jan Brady-ing her way to you
holding pen, her ponytail a-sway, she asked which dog I was looking at. “Crème Brulee,” I muttered. Even she looked embarrassed that they’d
named you that. Obviously that
would have to change immediately; I couldn’t have a dog that was named after
dessert on a cruise ship.
She picked you up by your
armpits to lift you over the gate; you looked like Aladdin on his magic carpet
until your paws met the floor and a leash was looped around your neck. We were dragged in tandem to an
approved mulch pit surrounded by a high fence wall. The volunteer palmed me a few puppy treats that
smelled like the flame-broiled leftovers in a hotdog factory to assure that you
would maintain some shred of interest in me before she quietly took her leave
to allow us to get better acquainted.
Not knowing exactly what to say,
I reached out a hand for you to sniff and took a seat on the overly warm cement
stairs. I could tell you were
scared, your ears were pulled back to your skull and your little beagle tail
was tucked between your little white sock feet. You took two steps away as I tried to contort my frame to
make myself appear smaller.
I offered you a treat to bribe
you closer, which, tentatively, you came, leading with your cold nose snorting
against my knuckles and your tongue probing at my clenched fist.
“Sit,” I commanded.
You titled your head to the side
before moving in still closer, your nose brushing against my cheek.
“Sit,” I laughed emphatically.
I don’t know if you remember
this, but that’s when you pushed your way under my knee. You used your head as a battering ram
and pressed between my legs before planting your furry ass down on my foot.
That’s the first time you ever let me pet you. I gave you the treat and you swallowed it without
chewing.
In stillness, I inquired, “How
do you like the name Zeke.” In fairness, I’d had that name picked out several
months before you were even born.
By now, it had basically replaced the world “dog” in my vocabulary. I, instead, was trying to find a pet
“Zeke”.
I could tell that we might be
moving a little too fast when the sound of my voice caused you to tilt your
head all the way back until our eyes met. You looked at me as though you didn’t
know this was an audition; your agent never sent you the sides and you
maintained a proud air about you that read very “offer only”.
“Look, puppy- I have a big bed
that has plenty of room for you and my neighborhood has a lot of acorn trees
which means that there are a lot of squirrels.” I quickly remembered that you were a baby and probably had
no idea what a squirrel was having never seen one before. “I’m in tight with
that community. I can’t wait to
introduce you.”
He sniffed at the air as the
wind changed course and we sat together in silence for what felt like a season.
Eventually, the door opened a
crack and the resident Jan Brady of the volunteer brigade stood, chompers
gleaming. “So? How did you two get along?”
“Well, he’s a man of few words,
but I think he’s going to be my best friend.”
She smiled so hard her eyes
looked like she had spent her time away from us staring directly into the
sun. I wanted to walk out the door
with you like a new pair of shoes, but I knew that I would need a day to get
ready. They were having an
adoption the next day, which is why they had to separate you from all your
brothers and sisters (I’m really super sorry about that, by the way) so no one
else would try to stake claim. When
she took you from my arms, I could tell that we had both aimed to evoke
Sophie’s Choice until your paw got caught in the crook of my elbow, which left
us looking more like a parapalegic juggling a marinated turkey.
She carried you out of site and
I went immediately to Target to buy you the finest of beddings, toys and
shampoos. I couldn’t sleep that
night and stayed up reading the entirety of the canine equivalent of “What to
Expect When You’re Expecting.” I
buried the wires around the apartment and set up your new crate. I was ready for you, as I hoped you’d
be ready for me.
When I arrived the next day,
your eyes were a bit red as if you hadn’t slept either. I led you out to the car and grabbed
you by the scruff and placed you on a blanket in the passenger seat as my
co-pilot. You seemed blissfully
unaware that this would be your responsibility from now on. We made it about 4 blocks before the
undulation of the car caused a rhythmic sound to emanate from your
intestines. By block 5, the entire
car interior was covered with your lunch and you had permanently developed a
fear of all automobiles.
I carried your back to the
apartment, your mouth dripping with vomit residue and my shirt soaked in bits
of kibbles and kibbles of bits.
Your warm puppy fur pressed against me so tight that I didn’t notice the
smell. You were shaking. From that moment on, you robbed me of
my ability to ever be completely mad at you. In your moment of digestional compromise, I accepted my
responsibility to love you unconditionally.
In the months that have
followed, we’ve both grown considerably. Your teeth fell out and I kept them in
a small wooden box so I could remember what you’d used to destroy my area rug.
You learned not to pee in the house (often) and I’ve learned not to take it
personally when you do. I have
developed a complete inability to watch more than 30 seconds of Animal Cops and
I can now see both sides to the arguments in any given episode of Animal
Hoarders. Every song I've ever
known has been rewritten as an ode to you. But, most importantly, we have nursed each other back to health
with little more than affection and sincere consideration for the creatures
that nature intends us each to be.
Last
night when I went to bed, I thought it might not be such a tragedy to sleep
through the next few decades. But,
this morning when I woke up, you were tucked under my arm like a
pocketbook. You kissed my face and
yawned a cloud of puppy breath deep into my nostrils that made my eyes
water. It was time to rise; to
walk forward together, and to explore.
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