When I think back, it mostly started in 2018. My daughter had lived in Japan for more than a year. When she got home she announced she was getting a dog.
I understood. She was an adult who had alllllllways wanted a dog but her dad wouldn’t let her. When she declared she was going to get a “senior rescue dog” I admit I envisioned money flying out of her wallet (my wallet?) to care for an old dog that was having accidents all over the house. I admired her compassion, but what was she thinking?! Her dad pulled out all the stops pleading with her not to get a dog.
When she called me at work a few weeks later and said, Mom, I’ve found our dog!, I was skeptical. Then she sent me a pic of an adorable, gray whiskered, 12 pound chihuahua mix. Oh my goshhhhh!
It was a full adoption, with paperwork, references, and home visits. But a month later, we picked up little “Albus” from the shelter.
The first day Katie and I both had to work after getting Albus, we arrived home at the same time. We stood by the door listening for barking: nothing. We opened the door with trepidation, expecting torn up pillows and poop everywhere. Instead we found our cute little dog sleeping on the couch and the apartment as we had left it.
Three weeks later Albus had morphed into “Dobby” (are you following the Harry Potter theme?). When that didn’t seen right, he became “Pepper,” but we still felt uncertain about his name. Then Katie was looking at his adoption paperwork and called out to me, “Mom, it says his name is Rocky, born July 23, 2008. Surrendered by owner.” Katie and I looked at Pepper and called, “Rockyyyy, hi Rocky!” His ears perked straight up and he ran over to us, surely thinking YES! I don’t know who Pepper is but I am Rocky!!!
Five years later, our now 15 year old Rocky is beloved by family, friends, strangers, and dogs. Rocky the Perfect never has accidents in the house. So at 4:30 a.m. during a balmy Florida September morning, I got my shoes on to take him outside when he woke me up, something he hardly ever did. We live in the city, like downtown, where there are always people roaming about, most of them harmless, but still. My eyes were scanning the street out of habit, making sure no one was approaching. Suddenly, I saw movement out of the corner of my eye. I glanced over quickly and it was a large dog……he jumped back…..and then I realized: not a dog, a coyote.
I gasped and nearly dragged poor Albus/Dobby/Pepper/Rocky across the street. I was too afraid to stop and grab him and my hands shook as I punched in the code to our front door. I felt oddly shaken: I had accepted life in the city with weirdos and scary people occasioning our daily existence. Now I have to allow for werewolves!?!?!?!?!
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