Joy
And then suddenly we had a little dog at our house, sniffing, pacing nail-tapping its way over our hard-wood floors from room to room.
It was Friday. I was finishing up my most recent post when I got a call from our friend Heather. David, her husband, had found a very small dog wandering around Lawrence and Rockwell. He stopped to pick her up and found that she had no tags. He knocked on a few doors but no one recognized her. So David took her home.
David and Heather have two large boxers and a one-bedroom apartment so they thought to contact Genevra and I because we're looking for a small dog to adopt. I had Genevra call David and I left work early to hop on an El and see this little dog for myself, while Genevra prepared the house for her.
The plan was simple. We would foster the dog but look really hard for her owner. If no one claimed her, we would adopt her.
This is a cute little dog. She's a mix of some kind. We were sure that she had some Chihuaha in her, as you can see from the domed head and the eyes, but the rest was a mystery.
Both of us were performing in Too Much Light this weekend, so immediately we were overtaken by a tidal wave of Busy. Was she housetrained? Why is she peeing every fifteen minutes? Is she pregnant or just overweight? Who's going to watch her tonight? Should we take up the rug? Who will watch her tomorrow? Will she need to be watched tomorrow? Should we take her to a vet? We need to make flyers. Where's the digital camera? How much should she eat? Shit. We forgot to eat dinner!
There were moments, of course, when the dog would cuddle with us on the couch, perch her little chin on one of our bellies and rest, and those moments were good. But the dog did seem a little odd. For one, she was unusually calm. She didn't bark once all weekend (not that I'm complaining) nor did she play. She was always a little pre-occupied and distant, almost as though she were autistic. There were moments of connection and a decent appreciation for the petting and tummy rubbing but she didn't seem too interested in seeking affection. And for a dog of that weight, she didn't seem too intereseted in seeking food. She was after something else but we weren't sure what. We assumed that she just wanted to go home.
We were hesitating over naming her. We didn't want to get attached. In many ways, aside from the distractedness, she was a perfect dog. In fact, she had such a good disposition, whoever owned her obviously didn't teach her anything. She was a wholly undisciplined dog, though hardly any trouble as a "wild" thing.
On Saturday we learned that she was not fixed, and was in heat. That explained the distractedness and likely explained why she ran away from home. It also explained why there was blood everywhere.
When I lived with another woman about four years ago, she and I brought home a six week-old Chihuaha puppy named Orsino. He was incredibly difficult to house train, and really not old enough to begin to learn. He couldn't sleep through the night without having to pee at least once. Elyse and I would take turns getting out of bed at usually 2am, taking his whining little self from his crate with one hand, and then walking him down to the alley in the back of our building.
I remember standing there, on a work night, waiting for him to pee, my eyes closing while I stood, swaying slightly from side to side, when something occured to me. I thought to myself "This sucks. I'm so tired, but I'm not miserable...I would not give this up." That realization sent me reeling.
If I had been able to peer into a crystal ball before I brought Orsino home so that I could see what my life would look like with a puppy in it, I would have changed my mind. I would have watched in horror as I got up at 2am every other night to carry that little potato with feet into the alley, and I would have said "forget it".
That thought led me immediately to the screaming children in the Supermarket, to the desperate feeling I used to get when I saw a couple trying to go about their lives together with this small bundle of inconvenience tugging at their pants or throwing up onto the restaurant floor. They are indeed, standing wabbley in the alley. I look at them and I think "no way." But from the outside I can only see the inconvenience. Sure I see a few grins and giggles, but they seem to pale in comparison to the trauma of trying to live your adult life with a weight around your neck. But what I can't see is the insides of these adult's lives, the insides of their hearts--the parts of them that, though exhausted, wouldn't change it for a second, the parts that grow by giving.
Rain brings growth. Too much sun, will eventually make a dessert.
I grew up in that moment and it changed me. As I carried my empty puppy up my back stairs, I thought about my father. For years I'd seen him as a man who'd given up his dreams so that he could raise a family. He married a woman with three children and had a fourth (me). He gave up dreams of running his own business for the security of a brown lunch bag, a clock-out at 5pm and a daily commute.
By the time I got to the top of my stairs, I realized that my father had accomplished much in the destruction of his bachelor's life. He built a family. I had only seen his life from the outside, and only through my limited perspective. I'd neglected to see the inside, the part that would not undo the life he had made for anything.
Genevra is a woman who loves her freedom. She's a Sagittarius, if that means anything to you. Most of her decisions center around how something will affect or has been affecting her freedom. This weekend was hard for her, and with little love back from the dog, it was hard for her to see how all that trouble could be worth it.
On Sunday night, after two visits to a pet store, and the vet, after flyers went up over the whole neighborhood, after dozens of trips to the fenced backyard and even two attempted doggy-in-heat-prison-breaks, we got a call from Joy's owner. Yes, her name was Joy. A half hour later, our ward was gone.
The empty, newly purchased doggy bed practically whines when you look at it.
Joy has a neurological disorder of some kind, which may explain why she's a little strange--though her being in heat could have explained that as well.
Genevra and I are in some ways relieved because we were getting ready to leave town and didn't know how we were going to manage. We've begun the process of adopting another dog whom we've fallen in love with online. We're hopeful that we'll get to bring him home after the fourth of July.
For now, I wonder about love and giving. I wonder if what I found to be true is indeed true for everyone. There are some philosophies out there that believe that courage and success are measured first by humility and second by accomplishment. Some believe that the hardest thing to do is not exhault the self like we do here in the U.S., but to make the most out of your life while burrying your selfishness. Some believe that for everything you relinquish, you will be rewarded with spiritual growth. And some believe that while that's true, one must relinquish with moderation. I like that. I'm all for the middle way.
Certainly it was true for my father. It seems like it might be true for me. For Genevra...we'll see. I'm sure it will be true on some level. In the wake of our incredibly hectic weekend, I'm 100 dollars in the hole and I had a really big fight with my fiance on Sunday night. I don't know what I gained. And actually, as cute as Joy was, as much as I knew I could fall in love with her if I allowed myself to, I was pretty miserable all weekend. I did long for more freedom. I was overwhelmed.
But I never felt that I'd made a mistake. I may not have felt the love and growth that usually accompanies giving, but I wouldn't go back and change a thing.
It was Friday. I was finishing up my most recent post when I got a call from our friend Heather. David, her husband, had found a very small dog wandering around Lawrence and Rockwell. He stopped to pick her up and found that she had no tags. He knocked on a few doors but no one recognized her. So David took her home.
David and Heather have two large boxers and a one-bedroom apartment so they thought to contact Genevra and I because we're looking for a small dog to adopt. I had Genevra call David and I left work early to hop on an El and see this little dog for myself, while Genevra prepared the house for her.
The plan was simple. We would foster the dog but look really hard for her owner. If no one claimed her, we would adopt her.
This is a cute little dog. She's a mix of some kind. We were sure that she had some Chihuaha in her, as you can see from the domed head and the eyes, but the rest was a mystery.
Both of us were performing in Too Much Light this weekend, so immediately we were overtaken by a tidal wave of Busy. Was she housetrained? Why is she peeing every fifteen minutes? Is she pregnant or just overweight? Who's going to watch her tonight? Should we take up the rug? Who will watch her tomorrow? Will she need to be watched tomorrow? Should we take her to a vet? We need to make flyers. Where's the digital camera? How much should she eat? Shit. We forgot to eat dinner!
There were moments, of course, when the dog would cuddle with us on the couch, perch her little chin on one of our bellies and rest, and those moments were good. But the dog did seem a little odd. For one, she was unusually calm. She didn't bark once all weekend (not that I'm complaining) nor did she play. She was always a little pre-occupied and distant, almost as though she were autistic. There were moments of connection and a decent appreciation for the petting and tummy rubbing but she didn't seem too interested in seeking affection. And for a dog of that weight, she didn't seem too intereseted in seeking food. She was after something else but we weren't sure what. We assumed that she just wanted to go home.
We were hesitating over naming her. We didn't want to get attached. In many ways, aside from the distractedness, she was a perfect dog. In fact, she had such a good disposition, whoever owned her obviously didn't teach her anything. She was a wholly undisciplined dog, though hardly any trouble as a "wild" thing.
On Saturday we learned that she was not fixed, and was in heat. That explained the distractedness and likely explained why she ran away from home. It also explained why there was blood everywhere.
When I lived with another woman about four years ago, she and I brought home a six week-old Chihuaha puppy named Orsino. He was incredibly difficult to house train, and really not old enough to begin to learn. He couldn't sleep through the night without having to pee at least once. Elyse and I would take turns getting out of bed at usually 2am, taking his whining little self from his crate with one hand, and then walking him down to the alley in the back of our building.
I remember standing there, on a work night, waiting for him to pee, my eyes closing while I stood, swaying slightly from side to side, when something occured to me. I thought to myself "This sucks. I'm so tired, but I'm not miserable...I would not give this up." That realization sent me reeling.
If I had been able to peer into a crystal ball before I brought Orsino home so that I could see what my life would look like with a puppy in it, I would have changed my mind. I would have watched in horror as I got up at 2am every other night to carry that little potato with feet into the alley, and I would have said "forget it".
That thought led me immediately to the screaming children in the Supermarket, to the desperate feeling I used to get when I saw a couple trying to go about their lives together with this small bundle of inconvenience tugging at their pants or throwing up onto the restaurant floor. They are indeed, standing wabbley in the alley. I look at them and I think "no way." But from the outside I can only see the inconvenience. Sure I see a few grins and giggles, but they seem to pale in comparison to the trauma of trying to live your adult life with a weight around your neck. But what I can't see is the insides of these adult's lives, the insides of their hearts--the parts of them that, though exhausted, wouldn't change it for a second, the parts that grow by giving.
Rain brings growth. Too much sun, will eventually make a dessert.
I grew up in that moment and it changed me. As I carried my empty puppy up my back stairs, I thought about my father. For years I'd seen him as a man who'd given up his dreams so that he could raise a family. He married a woman with three children and had a fourth (me). He gave up dreams of running his own business for the security of a brown lunch bag, a clock-out at 5pm and a daily commute.
By the time I got to the top of my stairs, I realized that my father had accomplished much in the destruction of his bachelor's life. He built a family. I had only seen his life from the outside, and only through my limited perspective. I'd neglected to see the inside, the part that would not undo the life he had made for anything.
Genevra is a woman who loves her freedom. She's a Sagittarius, if that means anything to you. Most of her decisions center around how something will affect or has been affecting her freedom. This weekend was hard for her, and with little love back from the dog, it was hard for her to see how all that trouble could be worth it.
On Sunday night, after two visits to a pet store, and the vet, after flyers went up over the whole neighborhood, after dozens of trips to the fenced backyard and even two attempted doggy-in-heat-prison-breaks, we got a call from Joy's owner. Yes, her name was Joy. A half hour later, our ward was gone.
The empty, newly purchased doggy bed practically whines when you look at it.
Joy has a neurological disorder of some kind, which may explain why she's a little strange--though her being in heat could have explained that as well.
Genevra and I are in some ways relieved because we were getting ready to leave town and didn't know how we were going to manage. We've begun the process of adopting another dog whom we've fallen in love with online. We're hopeful that we'll get to bring him home after the fourth of July.
For now, I wonder about love and giving. I wonder if what I found to be true is indeed true for everyone. There are some philosophies out there that believe that courage and success are measured first by humility and second by accomplishment. Some believe that the hardest thing to do is not exhault the self like we do here in the U.S., but to make the most out of your life while burrying your selfishness. Some believe that for everything you relinquish, you will be rewarded with spiritual growth. And some believe that while that's true, one must relinquish with moderation. I like that. I'm all for the middle way.
Certainly it was true for my father. It seems like it might be true for me. For Genevra...we'll see. I'm sure it will be true on some level. In the wake of our incredibly hectic weekend, I'm 100 dollars in the hole and I had a really big fight with my fiance on Sunday night. I don't know what I gained. And actually, as cute as Joy was, as much as I knew I could fall in love with her if I allowed myself to, I was pretty miserable all weekend. I did long for more freedom. I was overwhelmed.
But I never felt that I'd made a mistake. I may not have felt the love and growth that usually accompanies giving, but I wouldn't go back and change a thing.
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