I always used to tell my ex that if we broke up my coping mechanism would be getting a dog. I’ve always wanted one but the leap into parenthood seemed too big to make without some life-altering event pushing me over the edge… And then we broke up and my coping mechanism was binge drinking monday through sunday.
It was an especially frustrating time in my life because I felt out of control and weak, two things that I like to pretend it’s impossible for me to be. Slowly, though, I recovered my sanity and cut back (slightly) on the tequila. The bad days weren’t so bad and good days were almost back to normal and the dog search began.
I was determined to rescue. I have absolutely no problem with good, responsible breeders that breed dog breeds that don’t have a large population in shelters. For instance, it would be hard to find an Irish Wolf Hound at the humane society. With that being said, I felt it was my duty as someone who wasn’t going to be using this dog for anything more than a partner in adventure, to adopt one whose life I could make better as I hoped they’d do for mine.
My dream dog is essentially any dog that looks like it could kill your family and snack on their remains while looking you straight in the eye. So years of research had lead me to the Dutch Shepherd. Only, absolutely no one surrenders Dutch Shepherds because they’re an incredibly expensive breed of true working dogs and less common/well known than their cousin the German Shepherd. So second choice would be a dog known as a DDR GSD, or Deutsches Demokratische Republik German Shepherd. Also quasi-impossible to find one of those up for adoption.
So I settled for researching one billion and a half german shepherd rescues and applying for 15+ young adult males. But alas, due to the fact I live in an apartment and don’t have a fenced in yard, I didn’t hear back from a single one of the applications I put in. Reaching the end of my capacity for rejection I applied for one more puppy at a local rescue. Supposedly a German Shepherd/Collie mix, weird but fluffy. AND I WAS ACCEPTED!!!!!….but there were 15 other accepted applications before me so that’s cool. They called to tell me that he had gone to another home but that my accepted application was good for six months. But what were the chances this shelter in Clintonville was going to come across another male German Shep/Shep mix? The odds did not seem to be in my favor so I gave up, resigned that I would merely find the love of my life first, buy a ton of land and then restart the adoption process for my herd of rescue Shepherds and live happily ever after.
That Wednesday I was driving along, minding my own business, enjoying my simple little life with zero complications, when I got a call from the shelter. This is literally how the call went…
Me: Hello
Them: Hello this is Pets Without Parents. We got a puppy in last night and we wanted to see if you’d be a good match. What are you looking for?
*What I thought: Uh literally nothing, I’ve given up, my dreams have been crushed and now you’re blindsiding me in my weakest hour (just kidding)*
What came out of my mouth: A male German Shepherd/German Shepherd Mix
Them: Perfect, that’s what he is. If you want to come in and see him today you can take him home on Friday.
Me: Okay, then I will be in tomorrow after work.
So Thursday came and a coworker who was visiting from out of town and I went to go see the puppy. And man was I disappointed. Dude looked like he couldn’t hurt a fly. ZERO intimidation factor, no snarling fangs, no cold black eyes, no massive paws to grow into, just a dopey, underfed, dirty coat having nerd who was afraid of his toys. He was not the aesthetic dog of my dreams, he was too old/big to be the cute, fluffy, sleepy puppy that draws any sane person in and entangles them in a web of deceit that quickly turns into shitting in the house, crying all night and destroying everything you love. No, this puppy was not that. He didn’t even smell like puppy, he smelled like a zoo exhibit that hadn’t been cleaned. But here he was, in front of me, homeless and twice abandoned. A start to finish project that would make any “achiever” personality type start to itch with anticipation. They told me I had until Friday afternoon to give them a final decision (like seriously sub 24 hours). I sent pics to all the people whose opinions I care about and the resounding answer from the peanut gallery was “he’s adorable,” “he’s perfect,” “Maia, he is definitely your dog.”
There is a common theme with all the animals in my life. It is that I can’t have the animal of my dreams for whatever reason, and then along comes some horse or dog and I decide I don’t want it. And then someone close to me says “oh my gosh you love him, I can tell!!!” and then my mind starts whirring….do I love him? Is this animal my soul mate? Is this animal everything I have ever wanted and more? How could I have been so blind? (This also happened with the last guy I was seeing. Although, it didn’t turn out as successfully as all the animals did lol).
So, like any adult would do, I went to my other coworker’s house and we all got drunk and played catch phrase. I woke up, still drunk and my coworker handed me an Irish Coffee. I took a sip and said “so what do I do about this puppy?” and she said “I don’t think you should do it.” So armed with all my friends telling me that he was perfect for me, plus my mother and coworker telling me not to do it (it’s good to have a little adversity to fuel my rebellious fire), I promptly called the shelter and said I would take him….like any sane, morning-after-still-drunk adult.
Now here we are, exactly 3 weeks from the day I brought him home and he is my everything. It wasn’t immediate and I will write a blog post on adoption regret because I feel like that’s a relatable topic but I wanted to use this specific post to tell you that the animal this puppy is growing into has become my dream dog.
He’s not my dream dog in the way that I had always envisioned, but in the way that a girl who 8 months ago cried herself to sleep through panic attack after panic attack and had to drag herself out of bed every morning to confront a day she wasn’t sure she wanted to live through is now up at 7am to make her little demon puppy breakfast with a peace and a purpose in her heart that she didn’t trust she’d ever find. It seems silly, to reinvent your lifestyle on a whim to fit the needs of some dependent creature until you realize that you’ve reinvented your life to fit your own needs, and you are now dependent upon this creature because every spiteful poop in the house is an opportunity to train and learn and grow, every moment spent following the monster around and making sure he doesn’t destroy the home you’ve built for yourself is an exercise of patience you didn’t think possible. Every sleepless night or nap you couldn’t take is a practice of love and selflessness that is repaid 100 times in the trust and loyalty returned by the demon eating your slippers.
