Sometimes it starts with an email. A psssst. A hey you, yeah you.
I got an email from an old friend. Her friend runs pa boxer rescue. She had gotten a call about a boston terrier in need of a home. All L knew was that this was a senior dog. She thought of us. I responded that stubby hubs hunk would have the final say. I then told her that a photo would help. That I would start working on him now. That as she got more information to please pass it on.
I forwarded stubs our email correspondence, not thinking he would be receptive. Yet some how knowing that he will always be more open about a dog coming to us when we weren’t looking.
Maybe an hour later, L sent me the adoption listing for the Boston on the pa boxer website. We learned that her name is jewel, she is 12, her owner had passed away, that she had lived in hospice with her owner and acted as a service dog for other patients in hospice, and by the look of the picture, her eyes were more ruemy than brown. Stub’s response, “what kind of dick head kid doesn’t just take her home?” I was pretty sure right then that he saw himself as the white night in jewel’s story. She was going to be part of the monkey house. What he said next was, ” we’ll talk more when I get home.” Code for she’s ours.
When he got home he asked the question I had been asking myself. “are you ready to open yourself back up to that kind of hurt again?”. He meant the hurt at losing gabby. A pain that still exists. I drew my answer from wicky’s funeral. Only when your heart had been left open in cracks by it being broken can you allow love to get in. There was plenty of room in my heart for her.
Things moved pretty quickly from there. L texted us that she was getting jewel that same evening and if we wanted to meet her, she would be around. We brought her home that night and she has been with us since. She seems in much better health than gabby although she can’t really see or hear. She can jump on the bed. She can roll over and shake and sit. She has a beautiful smile with tiny teeth ground down to stumps. She is gassy. She licks the goose. She is madly in love with stubs. She just fit right away into our pack.
I like having three dogs. Some of you may remember my post about living in a multiple dog household. The one where I counted everything in threes. Three is the magic number.
I like knowing that we have become known as the house where senior dogs come to hang in their last years. I try hard not to get too angry with people who think that dogs are disposable. That once they are no longer brown eyed beauties, they should be tossed aside. She may be mistaken for a blue eyed dog, but she has plenty of love left to give……
And we’ll take it ju ju. We’ll take it until you tell us you are ready for the big sleep. I hope that’s many years from now.