My roommate and I went to the local animal shelter. I really wasn't expecting to adopt a dog that day, I just wanted to see how many dogs were there and if any stood out. It was a heart-breaking experience. I had never gone with my family to "pick out a dog"; my parents had always gone on their own and brought whatever puppy they found back home.
There were dogs everywhere--big dogs and little dogs, puppies and full grown dogs. The barking was deafening and the smell was nauseating, but we walked the hall. My ears were ringing and I looked from one dog to the next. All of them were a mix of some sort, and I knew I wanted one that wasn't too loud--especially since I lived in an apartment.
As we walked, this little curly-haired dog laid on the cement behind the bars of a cage with his head nestled on his front paws. Only his eyes moved with us as we passed; otherwise, he didn't budge.
He looked kind of rugged to me--his fur was all over the place, he had a lot of white surrounding his face and he had a stump for a tail. One ear flopped over while the other stood up and according to his fact sheet, his name was Puffy and he was a three-year-old cairn terrier mix.
I knew immediately he wasn't three and he sure didn't look like a "Puffy" to me.
We kept walking, looking over every poor dog who just wanted a little attention. I assured my roommate I was no where near ready to bring a dog home in that moment, we were just there to look.
As we walked back through to head out, I noticed "Puffy" had moved and now stood at the fence, watching me intently. I couldn't get over how quiet he was; not once had he barked.
I knelt down in front of the gate and tentatively put my fingers through the squares. Immediately, he began to lick my hands. My roommate got down on the ground with him and she, too, was warmly received by the little monster.
We decided we wanted to play with him. Didn't want to take him home, just play for a little while. So the man at the shelter brought him out with us into this play pen. I really despised the name "Puffy", but I knew some dogs were hard to re-train with a new name and so I called out to him.
He didn't even budge at the sound of his name as he walked around and sniffed at Lauren's feet. I looked at Lauren, who knew I wanted to name my dog Dodger if he was a boy, and smiled. "Dodger!"
He perked up, looked right at me and one ear flopped to the front while the other stood straight. It was fate.
The animal control man smiled at me and asked if I wanted him to get a leash and if Dodger would be coming home with us.
How could I say no?
Over the course of the last ten months, this dog has gotten on my last nerve, he's attacked the ankles of every person I've had in the house and he's refused to eat unless I mush everything together for his poor little teeth. He's been allergic to two foods I've gotten him and he's suffered from a couple of pretty intense seizures.
But he also kept me company on Christmas. And even though it annoyed me at first, when I sleep somewhere else I miss the way he burrows under my comforter and curls up against my legs (even though he is a living heat blanket). He's excited to see me each and every time I come home and he's made me feel safe and protected always.
I didn't choose him. To me, he was a scruffy old dog with a weird name and I didn't think he belonged in my life, but I was so incredibly wrong. I feel like he's been in my life forever, and it's hard to imagine being in my apartment without him.
Thanks for making me feel a little less alone, Dodge. Thanks for choosing me. Love you with all of my heart, even if you're an ankle-biter.
xoxo
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