Here's what my weekend looked like in my head: Saturday morning, sleep in. Leave for Bakersfield at 11:30 am to pick up a little doxie who I would transport to his foster in Pasadena, CA. I'd be home by 4pm, grab some lunch, and head out to work for a couple of hours. It was the first week of production, so I wanted some extra time to get the paperwork done. Not only did I almost always require that, but I had plans in the evening that involved me drinking until 3am so I needed to make up my Sunday work-morning BEFORE going out Saturday night.
So now that you know the blueprint in my mind for my weekend, here's what really happened:
My transport went as planned actually. This was my first involvement in a multi-leg transport in some time that I didn't begin or end. I was merely a middleman. Spike, the little brown dachshund had started his morning in Sacramento, and had gotten to Bakersfield through three legs. I was leg four, his third new person to meet that day. I had to make it to Pasadena, 100 miles away where his fosters had driven from Palm Springs to pick him up.
I thought of Murphy when the transporter I met in Bakersfield said, "He nipped at me and growled when I first met him, but then he found a comfy spot in the back seat where he could lean his head over and I could scratch his ears. He slept most of the way."
Yup, it's a doxie. Little attitude, then a bunch of loving. Oddly, Spike didn't nip at me. He in fact raced after me to get into my truck. No nipping, but as always, everything with a dachshund involves a battle of wits or a battle of wills. Let's face it, they're tiny dogs, The only things they really have on their side is intelligence and the element of surprise.
Spike wanted to sit in the backseat, but I had too much stuff back there, and I needed him up front with me. I pointed out the passenger seat was a nice place to be, or my lap, or even draped over the console as Murphy did. But none of these options appeased him. He only pretended they did. I proved my words though: that I was always one step ahead of him.
As soon as he was all peaceful-looking on the passenger seat, he'd dive for the backseat over the console. Or just when I thought he was content on my lap, he'd try to burrow through my elbow and get around my driver's seat. Each time he did this, he tried to use as much gravitational pull as possible, pressing hard and keeping it there, using his head, his body, whatever he could, as if eventually I wouldn't be able to hold him back. He was wrong.
Two hours and many failed attempts to get into the backseat later, we arrived in Pasadena where we met up with his new foster dads. I'm so used to seeing where they end up, it felt odd to just hand over the leash in a Best Buy parking lot. The guys were kind enough to drive up here from Palm Springs, I drive I certainly didn't want to do so I was happy they came here. Spike was not though. He growled at them, but not the crazy-bark Murphy is famous for. One growl, and although Spike seemed hesitant, I thought he'd be okay going with them. They were nice guys, and I imagined Spike would figure that out soon enough. So I bid little Spike good-bye and headed off for the next portion of my day.
I did indeed get to work by 4:30 as scheduled, and started in to get as much done as possible before leaving for the evening. And that's when I got the call.
Christy had taken Murphy from Melissa at 10am that morning to Murphy's forever home. Well, "forever" lasted until about 5pm. Murphy pulled his vicious stunts, and made the husband in the family nervous. (The husband, who trains pit bulls, and has tattoos was a little nervous about Murphy). Good job, Murphy. You just proved that pit bulls are less dangerous than little dogs.
Christy then found out that it wasn't all peace at Melissa's during his stay. He got along with her other dogs just fine and he adored her, but Murphy had issues with Melissa's boyfriend. He just didn't like him, and wouldn't allow him near Melissa. Oddly, he was okay with both Christy and Katya's husbands, so we're not sure what the trigger is.
Whatever it was, Murphy had to leave his forever home tonight. Melissa said she could take him for a couple of days, as her boyfriend is patient, but she couldn't keep him too long. Also, Melissa had left for the evening and wouldn't be back till late in the night. So, could I, single girl with no boyfriend for Murphy to hate, take Murphy for the night?
The only other option for would be to let him sleep in a crate in the garage at Christy's house. He was fine with dogs, but he pissed off her cats. Poor Murphy wasn't making friends anywhere. I felt so bad for the little guy.
So of course I said yes, and tweaked my plans. It was a gathering of friends, doors opening at 7pm, with a screening of a 1970's sexploitation movie at 11pm (my friend holds screenings of various themes every month or so like Chuck Norris, John Hughes, Italian horror movies, and the like). I asked Christy to keep Murphy as long as possible so I could at least see my friends who I haven't seen in a few weeks, and then I'd take him home for the night, missing the main event movie. The universe felt a dog needed my love and attention more than I needed to get drunk and watch porn with my friends, and I accepted that the universe might be right.
Christy met me outside my friend's place a little after 9:30 to hand over Murphy and his belongings. I brought one of my guy friends with me to meet Murphy, and Murphy was totally accepting of him...so again, we don't know why he didn't like his new home's dad.
Murphy had had a rough day. He'd had a rough time of it all lately. Since leaving the shelter, he had stayed with Christy, Katya, Lavinia, me, and Melissa, and now was on his forever home. That's a lot of moving around in a month. I thought it was great that he met so many people, but each time he bonded and each time, we went away.
When we got back to my place I tried to play for a little while, but he didn't seem interested. As soon as I sat on the couch, he dove at me and collapsed with half his body on my lap and the other dangling off onto the couch. And there he passed out.
As I looked down at him, I was sad for him. He just wanted to belong. He just wanted to be loved. He just didn't know how to do it. He kept getting rejected. All of us who had him for a little while loved him, but none of us could keep him. He loved us all, and how did we reciprocate? By passing him along. Now granted that's what we have to do, and it's for the ultimate good to get him into a home for the rest of his life and fostering is a fabulous leg up for any dog. But how do they know you're just a brief stop on the road of life?
I let him snooze for an hour before waking him up and telling him I wanted sleep now, so we should move to the bedroom. In bed he curled up with me, his head on my shoulder, muzzle nuzzled into my neck, and fell back to sleep. I know Murphy's not "my dog", but I feel for him so much. I want to protect him; I want him to have the life and love he deserves; and a huge part of me feels enormous guilt for the fact that he's not staying with me forever.
Dogs choose people. I know that. One of the places I volunteered at years ago had a dog in their kennels for over three years. He had chosen one of the volunteers as his person, but she couldn't keep him. Every time he went out to a potential home, he sabotaged it in one way or another. He wanted her. But she couldn't have him. It made me wonder if Murphy sabotaged his meeting because he wanted one of us who already had him. Or if, perhaps, he just didn't understand that barking and growling at your new dad is unacceptable.
When I finally fell asleep Saturday night, looking down at the peaceful puppy on my shoulder, I realized missing a movie with my friends was no big deal. I need to get out of the house with people every now and again, that's for certain, but knowing that a little canine in need found safety with me for the night after a long trying day, is worth sacrificing a little social time for.
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