Emotional Rescue

One afternoon, almost two years ago, I took a break from unpacking my things in my new home and decided to surf the internet for a little while. Somehow, I found myself at the website that I normally don't allow myself to look at. No no, not that kind of website! I found myself at petfinder.com. I have to limit my time there, so as not cry myself to sleep at night. I was all alone in my new place and the quiet was killing me. I needed something. Much like my experience with online dating, I didn't know exactly what I was looking for, but felt pretty certain I would know it when I saw it. And then, I saw it.

Harriet's ad jumped off the screen and licked me in the face. She had some pictures posted and her ad read exactly like an ad I would have put up. She needed a stable home. Harriet had a family, but there was conflict and neglect which led up to her eviction. Luckily, a neighbor took Harriet in and provided her a safe harbor. After a few weeks, Harriet's family was ready to reconcile and they invited her to move back home with open arms. So, back she went. One week later, she was dropped off at the neighbor's home...kicked out again. Harriet had not been beaten, but her spirit was broken nonetheless. The burn of my own recent experience with rejection which led up to my new home stung. I could totally relate to Harriet. She was an older dog, wooly, but I could see from her pictures that she still thought very highly of herself.

I thought about it, could I do it?  My track record wasn't so great with keeping a pup on my own, usually surrending the grateful dog to one of my parents (because they "were lonely").  I knew Harriet would require a commitment.  I couldn't surrender custody this time.  Before I could talk myself out of it, I phoned Harriet's foster mother and set up a "home visit".  As much hassle and paperwork that was involved, I appreciated the fact that this organization, St Francis Rescues, didn't just drop their dogs off at the first home that expressed interest.  I had a couple of days to prepare for our home visit. 

The purpose of the home visit was a meet and greet of sorts, but also to make sure I wasn't running some sort of Michael Vick satellite campus in my backyard.  The foster mother, Trish, said that a fenced yard would be required, so I set about patching my fence.  I removed all potential poison or choking hazards from low places in my home.  I went on a pet supply shopping spree and felt a bit like my adopted baby was on the way.  What kind of bed?  How big should the crate be?  What kind of food?  Does Harriet prefer squeaky toys or rawhide?  With my new dog loot obtained and displayed in a dog friendly manner, I waited on Harriet's arrival.  A van pulled into the driveway, and I went out to greet them.  I saw Harriet perched in the passenger seat, eager to make her debut.

It would be cliche to say that an immediate bond was formed, but...well, an immediate bond was formed.  Harriet was dainty and coy as she approached me and admired my shoes.  The three of us entered my home and Harriet gave a passing glance to the Happy Fun Time Dog Extravaganza display, then jumped up on to my dinner table, as if she was about to make an important speech.  I admired her spunk.  I could imagine that she was saying:

"My name is Harriet and I am 6 years old.  I am healthy and in no danger of multiplying since my surgery.  I have some papers here that show the results of my recent physician visit, as you can see, I am up to date on everything.  I require mid to top level dog food, crunchy.  I had a nice couch at the halfway house, but was not allowed to bring it (sideways glance at Trish).  I am going to need a soft couch like thing to lie in.  Toys are great, not really particular about these as I haven't had a lot of time for toys...you see I have raised four litters of puppies.  I see that you have sidewalks here in your neighborhood, and I am used to having free range, so we will have to work something out.  I have issues with frizz, but prefer to keep my hair natural.  I appreciate your hospitality."

It became clear that it wasn't a matter of me selecting Harriet, Harriet had to select me.  Trish said that if I felt comfortable, she would leave Harriet with me at this visit.  I filled out some papers, basically stating that I wouldn't hurt Harriet or leave her for days alone.  I didn't even want to go to work the next day! And with that...it was just Harriet and I.  The van backed out of the driveway, and Harriet watched it disappear.

Harriet and I became fast friends.  She met friends and family and everyone fell under the spell of her charm.  There were kinks to work out, of course.  I never thought about changing her name, Harriet suited her to a T.  She was a prim and proper little old lady, with a kick.  The sidewalks turned out to be her favorite thing!  Harriet loves walking up to the courthouse on the square and sniffing storefronts.  She doesn't really care for other dogs, but never meets a human stranger.  I learned the hard way that Harriet has a thing for candy, and will digest all candy left in her reach...gum, sour patch kids, truffles...you name it.  She also eats cigarettes when she is pissed off.   Obviously, Harriet has an iron stomach.  She loved her little couch/bed that I purchased, but after a while, demanded to sleep on the bed.  For the first year, she was discouraged from sitting on the living room furniture, but now has an entire piece of human furniture for her exclusive use.  Crate training lasted approximately one week and after the seventh day of coming home to extract a shivering and cowaring pup from the deluxe crate, I purchased a baby gate.  Harriet pretty much demands the same standards by which I live.

Out of convenience I purchased the deluxe dog food brand for her once.  I am now required to purchase this brand and this brand only.  There are peas (dried green nuggets) in the mix and Harriet sorts them out and piles them in a polite little pile next to her bowl for my disposal.  During a travelling spurt last year, I boarded Harriet at the vets office, only after doing a personal inspection of the facilities.  After the third trip, I picked up Harriet and her paws were bloody.  I couldn't imagine what on Earth had transpired, and the office was equally clueless.  That night, I fashioned little Neosporin Ziploc bag booties and as she patiently stuck her feet up for me to doctor, she requested that I not leave her there again.  And thus began Harriet's weekend jaunts to Pickwick lake when I had to be out of town.  My mother is equally in love with her and offered her home to board Harriet. 

Just this morning, as we are having our morning coffee (well, coffee for me), I look over at her as she takes her morning nap (Harriet is not a morning dog) and I think about who rescued who.  I have provided Harriet with the best retirement experience ever.  She leads a leisurely life and never wants for anything.  Harriet has stability and security, something neither she or I is very accustomed to.  It doesn't matter if I come home and Harriet has painted my furniture with her poop and chewed up my Hollis Gillespie books; we would still play The Sugar Game at bedtime, just like any other night.  A couple of nights ago, when I took her out to pee before bed, she refused to pee.  I stood outside in the thick air, swooning from an exhausting day, as she stood still, like a statue...not peeing like a "good girl".  I withheld her treat and we went directly to bed (with an extra top sheet).  Crawling into bed, I positioned myself for our nightly game of Sugars. (Sugars consists of sitting face to face and saying "Sugars!" while she licks my nose, repeat three times then deep tissue massage for Harriet)  Harriet looked at me as if to say, "What? Sugars? Really? I thought you were mad at me."  It dawned on me at that moment that love means playing the Sugars game even if one of the parties is more vinegar than sugar.  How many times have I been expelled from the Sugars game in relationships???  Too many to count. 

As good as I have made it for Harriet, she has rescued me ten times over.  In my work, I spend entire days trying to make a difference and often failing miserably.  The shell of detachment that I have honed over the years is a hard exoskeleton.  But nothing, no man, brownie, pill, or beverage can dissolve that shell like the prim and proper little old lady who waits for me each day, doing a fancy little dance routine as soon as I open the door.  Harriet doesn't like to talk about her life prior to coming here, usually just passing it off with "Pfffft, Girl that shit was crazy!" But what matters is now.  It is okay now.  For the both of us.  We are two old gals who are done with crazy.  Perusing the dog personals that day two years ago was the best thing I ever did for Harriet, as well as myself.