It seemed like she wasn’t where she needed to be, but really she was simply on the path getting to where she needed to be—she just had to take the scenic route to be fully prepared for her purpose.
I wouldn’t ever be prepared to give up on her. And because I don’t give up, due to stubbornness, due to optimism, due to pure stupidity—perhaps all three, my friends know they cannot change my mind, so they might as well be enablers.
Already hemorrhaging money at an alarming rate to pay for Missy’s care, I was disappointed and distraught that my stash of toys had depleted completely. I didn’t have the funds for new toys, but Missy needed some. My bitching and whining to my friend Carolina about the lack of playthings in my house spurred her into immediate action. In less than 24 hours, she packed up a box of her own canine kids’ toys that they didn’t use and shipped them to Missy.
No, it’s not a bomb.
It’s a box of canine goodness.
While Carolina took care of Missy’s fun factor for me, I focused
on finding the unexplored avenues that might lead to Missy’s forever home. I
say I don’t give up, but I knew all along Troy wasn’t the one for Missy. I
wanted it to be, but I know all too well: we don’t get what we want; we get what
we need.
Sarah had a solid back-up plan if Missy didn’t have a home
by her end date. Her friend met with Missy, totally loved her, but like me, he
can’t have a dog of his own. Although some have managed it, we don’t see how
our freelance production life can also include that lifelong relationship. He could step in to foster, but only
for four or five weeks before he had to leave for a humanitarian effort this
summer. (Yes, a humanitarian effort across the planet—clearly an exceptional
person, the type you’d want to have a dog, but you know his life is meant to
help thousands, not care for just one being.) So we had Plan B... the run down
path off to the side that might not lead to Missy’s forever home, but would be
a port of call while Belinda sorted out another plan.
I am no longer scheduled to return for a few months, and
even if I was, I am not the foster for Missy. I was terrified to take her
anywhere; I didn’t have confidence in her; she needed a yin to her yang. We
were just two yangs out of balance. So if Missy went to another foster, then
that would be it: I would be walking away from the table, never to return. But
I would hope I would be leaving her in a better place than where I found her.
I then remembered the one avenue not yet explored: a woman
named Kathy had responded to one of Belinda’s ads just around the time that we
were sorting through the Missy and Sawyer meetings. Belinda had sent her an
application and said that she’d be next in line should Troy not work out. I
asked Belinda if we could do a meet and greet anyway, as I had a gut instinct
Troy just wasn’t going to work out. There were delays and difficulties, but I
was determined to explore this.
When it finally was decided that it was too much of a risk
for Missy to be with Sawyer, Belinda shared Kathy’s number and I had Sarah give
her a call. Neither Belinda nor I are salespeople; we’re more passive. But in
this case, I had to get aggressive. Belinda had contacted her a couple of
times, but hadn’t heard back. She then found out the woman had a family
emergency and her husband had to leave town for a bit.
I stated my position to Belinda bluntly: “I just want Sarah to call her and say, ‘Hi, I’m Missy’s
foster mom. If you have any questions, feel free to ask me. I’d love for you to
meet her. Let me know if you want to get together.’ If she doesn’t respond,
I’ll drop it. But I need to try.”
Sarah made the call that night and immediately set up a meet
and greet. She convinced her that she should met Missy because then we’d know
if it was a definite No. If she was still interested, she could come back when
her husband returned.
I needed hope. I needed a lure, something to keep me
optimistic so I didn’t refocus my energies on other ideas.
Two days later, I got the email from Sarah saying that Kathy
had to cancel due to bad migraines.
Was it a true obstacle, or was it an excuse? Sarah assured
me that her conversation with Kathy really made it seem like she wanted Missy.
Kathy and her husband Dax had had pit bulls before—pit bulls with social
problems as a matter of fact. One had passed away of old age, the other lived
with her in-laws. She respected Missy’s limitations and wanted to help her.
They wanted to rescue a dog, not buy one. They wanted to give a second chance
to a dog who desperately needed one.
Sarah kept the next scheduled meeting under wraps to not get
Belinda and my hopes up. Then on Sunday night, we got a surprise email from
Sarah entitled “Missy Loves Kathy and Dax!”
“Hi! Kathy and Dax came by to meet Missy and they all loved
each other. She tried to follow them out the front the door when they
left. : ) We've talked about her
needs and their expectations, etc. and it sounds like they are a very good
fit... Dax was ready to take her home today! Kathy is a little more realistic,
ha ha, so I think that's a good balance too...”
I’ve always found that the men are always more compulsive,
whereas women are more realistic: they like to nest and prepare—this is a
lifelong commitment after all. But there’s just something about a boy and his
dog—it’s love at first sight and nothing on this planet can tear the two apart.
The fact that Missy tried to follow them out the door tells me she had found
her man.
Kathy had another migraine, so the home check didn’t work
out on Tuesday. I had doubt once more. It should be easy, shouldn’t it? I’ve
never had a migraine and hope to never experience one; from what I’ve heard it
really is debilitating. Would Kathy be able to handle Missy if she had a
migraine? The sands in the hourglass were running thin, and I didn’t want
a repeat of the first parting with Missy when Belinda and I were up past midnight
trying to find a new solution that didn’t involve a concrete kennel.
The plan was for Missy to spend the weekend with Kathy and
Dax, but we needed to be assured that their home was safe. They were looking
for a house, but currently lived in an apartment. They had the landlord’s
permission to have a dog. But I was still worried. So I asked Sarah for their last
name so I could cyber-stalk. They hadn’t yet turned in their application, and
although Missy needed to be somewhere in two weeks’ time; she needed to be
safe.
My internet search made me doubtful yet again. The man had a
record. Damn it. But what kind of record? A few more searches and although my
doubt was there, I began to believe maybe this was Missy’s purpose.
“Sober for 12 years,” he had written on a page. It’s sad to
me that murder and narcotic addiction hold the same criminal sentences. They’re
hardly the same thing. I didn’t want Missy to go to a murderer/rapist. But if
she can help a man on his road to recovery and be that stable force in life...
isn’t that the type of grand purpose I had thought Missy was meant for all
along?
I alerted Sarah to my findings, and she, being the faithful
church-going sweet soul she is, has far more trust in people than I do. She
didn’t have doubts; she only saw the second thoughts I had: that he would be
good for Missy and Missy good for him.
Wednesday afternoon Sarah got a call that Dax wanted to
spend time with Missy in the park. Sarah had to work and wasn’t going to let
Missy go unsupervised, so she had to turn him down. But I really appreciated
his enthusiasm. For any homeless pet, being wanted is the single most important
thing—above food, a warm bed, and a roof over their head. Just to be wanted is
enough to sustain them.
Belinda, Sarah, and Missy went on the home check Thursday
night. Kathy had seen a doctor for her migraines and gotten some meds, so she
was on the mend. The home check went well, and Missy seemed comfortable in the
home. She had never been to another abode, so the fact that she was comfortable
was a good sign. Sarah really liked the way Missy and Dax related to one
another... it was a match.
Friday afternoon, Sarah packed up Missy’s things for a
weekend getaway—a trial run. I had never done something like this, so I was
quite anxious. Why don’t they just adopt and be done? I needed Sarah to be off
my payroll, and I wanted Missy to be securely in her new family as quickly as
possible.
Sarah sent this picture of a Missy. (She assured me that I
would get my dog bed back... Missy was just taking it to have stuff of her own
on her trial run.)
The trial run taught us a few things. The first being that Missy cannot be a therapy dog for wheelchair-bound people. It was Kathy’s first time walking Missy, and Dax was not with her. Missy did excellent. She was gentle with the five year old girl who wanted to pet her, and patient while Kathy chatted with a neighbor. But when a person in a wheelchair came rolling up the sidewalk, not even acknowledging Missy, Missy reacted.
No, she didn’t lunge at the wheels.
No, she didn’t bite the man’s face off.
No, she didn’t stand in front of the wheelchair and stop it
from moving.
Instead, she grabbed the man’s blanket off his lap, threw it
on the ground, and sat on it.
Evidently she thought it was hers. Or, she’s just a bully
and steals disabled people’s accessories. Either way, she should should never
volunteer at Hospice.
The next thing it taught us was that a change in environment
can change a dog’s attitude. While Sarah spent most of her day in my house
trying to get Missy to stop going ballistic when the resident squirrel taunted
her from the deck, or not to bark at people walking on the opposite side of the
street, in Kathy’s and Dax’s place, Missy sat at the window daily, in silence
of her own volition, watching people walk by and squirrels race back and forth across
the top of a nearby fence.
The most important thing it proved is that when it’s right, it’s right. Despite all of Sarah’s warnings that Missy would need help learning dog language and wasn’t ready for socialization, Dax took Missy to a dog park. Sarah and I had tried Missy on leash with other dogs, but were both not trusting enough to see what would happen in an off-leash situation. We knew dogs could be different when off leash, but neither of us felt confident enough should something go awry. And that lack of confidence is detrimental to the experiment.
Then there’s Dax, who Sarah tells me is an enthusiastic,
go-getter guy with confidence and warmth and love and is ever-optimistic. He took
Missy to a dog park he knew wouldn’t be heavily populated. One man was there
with a few other dogs. Dax went in fully confident, keeping her on a leash to
begin with, letting the other dogs and her greet one another and then when he
felt it was right, let her off leash. The result: Missy PLAYED with other dogs!
This was a dangerous risk. Should he have waited for a
trained professional to be there? Yes, probably. But, in all honesty, one of
the avenues I was considering was sending Missy to a guy who professionally
helps socialize dogs. He would do exactly what Dax did. Here’s the difference:
the man I would have paid was a professional; Dax is the man who loves Missy
with his whole heart. Dax doesn’t want to put her in harm’s way. Missy trusts
him and he trusts her. Sarah didn’t want to take Missy to adoption fairs
because she didn’t trust her and thought it would be bad for her. I took her a
couple of times, but was always expecting the worst. Dax had no such
preconceived notions. He gave her a chance.
By Sunday night though, we still had not heard if it was
official. Belinda and I agreed to waive the adoption fee. We would rather see
them spend $200 on Missy’s vet care than giving it to us. We would never recoup
the entire amount we spent in monetary terms; knowing she’s loved and finally
where she’s meant to be is all the compensation we really needed.
Monday night Sarah sent the official text: Missy’s with her
new family!
Contract signed, application completed, and Sarah went to
say her final goodbye to Missy. I called her as soon as I got the text.
“You okay?” I asked.
She had said she thought it might be difficult to say
good-bye. This wasn’t just a pet-sitting gig. This wasn’t just a foster. This
was a dog she helped raise; she molded Missy into the dog she is today.
“How was it seeing her again?”
Missy greeted her, but then returned to her folks. Missy
wasn’t looking to go back with Sarah. She had found her place. This was her
home; these were her people.
“She looked good. Healthy, and so happy. Dax really
exercises her too. So I think she might just be too worn out to misbehave.”
“So you’re not sad?”
“How can I be sad? She was so happy. This is where she’s
meant to be.”
Dax told Sarah how he sees Missy as a part of building the
best life he can live; how much he loved her, and how he knew they would do
right by each other. I have to wonder if Missy saw all that too, that very
first night they met. Did Missy know instinctually that this was her person—the
one who was meant to be her life partner? I have to believe so. We women, we
know; we know when it’s meant to be and nothing can will stand in our way to make it happen.
It’s been a long journey. From that very first email plea I
saw for a momma dog and her pups needing a ride to San Diego in October of last
year...
...to my first encounter with the scrawny, misunderstood, nameless dog in January...
...to days of training...
...to my first encounter with the scrawny, misunderstood, nameless dog in January...
...to days of training...
...and snuggle time...
...to leaving Missy in March, and handing her (and my house) over to a complete stranger...
... and finally the ultimate destination: Missy’s forever family.
...to leaving Missy in March, and handing her (and my house) over to a complete stranger...
... and finally the ultimate destination: Missy’s forever family.
Never doubt you are ever anywhere but where you are meant to be. If you get off track, the universe shows you signs and gives you opportunity to return to the right path. And sometimes the path may not seem right for it seems too long, but know that every step is going toward the future you were meant to have.
This journey has taught me a good many things: to be
grateful for where I am in life; that I am not destitute and that although
painful and stressful, gambling on a dog is always a win no matter how
momentarily detrimental it is to my bank account; that because I never will
walk away, I need to make sound choices on what I walk toward; and despite all
my doubts and all my stressing out, that the universe will always
provide—perhaps not on my time schedule, but always in the nick of the time;
and that most often, it’s always the second chance that brings you the most
joy.
Sarah has said to me that the house is different without a
dog. Indeed it is. My house is happy with a canine resident. Despite my rash
sentiments in an earlier blog, I, and my house, will foster another homeless
dog again. Granted, the dog needs to be funded next time, but I will indeed take the
gamble. Because being a pit stop on the way to a dog’s forever family is one of
the greatest joys in my life.
Missy, I hope the time you spent with me and with Sarah and
at Casa de Canine will be a joyful memory to you. It seems you already know
that where you are is indeed exactly where you were always meant to be. We were
just here to prepare you. You have the tools to be a more polite dog in
human society... so please, for goodness sake, stop stealing people’s blankets!
Love ya, Missy. Keep Dax and Kathy safe and loved. You were
always meant to be theirs, and they were always meant to be yours.
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