This One Wild Life

March 7th, 2009: The Day Our Lives Changed for the Better
But prior to that…

TRAGEDY STRIKES

Just over a year ago, Tim and I were deeply grieving the loss of two beloved family members. Bill, our adopted foster, had been with us for 5 years when an undetected mass in his abdomen ruptured. It happened just after a glorious Sunday morning breakfast and a game of tug-of-war in the living room. He went into shock immediately and we rushed him to the vet. During emergency surgery, a blood clot traveled to his main artery and he was gone. On February 14th, we also said good-bye to Tim’s dog, Jack. Jack had sucessfully battled cancer, extending his life 13 good months until there was no more fight left in him. Jack had been with Tim (and Tim’s ex, Stacy, who managed his cancer care) for 14 years. It was an awful beginning to 2009.

LEARNING TO COPE

The sadness was unbearable for us both. For me, working from home alone in a house once filled with so much energy was horrendous. For two full weeks, I felt trapped in the stagnation of heartbreak. I needed to push past the sadness, allowing myself to hope, dream and laugh again. I wanted to begin a quest for a joyful relationship once more. I wanted another dog.

Tim and I struggled with this decision for several weeks more. He was unable to think about another dog. When we’d toy with the idea and I’d look through Petfinder, I would latch on to hope. Then we’d argue about timing, coping, feelings, expectations. I learned that toying with the idea was all Tim could do. Hearing him say this brought on tears. He’d tell me that the depth of my grief was unhealthy, that I had to move on. While I understood, he wasn’t able to move forward in the only way I knew how. For me, opening my heart again meant progress, not sitting in the silence and sadness. For him, a new dog would mask his grief rather than allow him to deal with it. We were at an impass.

EXPLORING OUR OPTIONS

Eventually, we considered a sweet, sight-challenged Great Pyrenese named Mojo. Tim has always had a soft spot for animals unlikely to be adopted and I learned from him the importance of that consideration. Reading that Mojo relied on his foster brothers to guide him (none of which were up for adoption) , we considered looking for a companion less independent than a Pyr but large enough to contend with Mojo’s size. The Newfoundland, although I had never heard of one?until I began research, seemed a perfect companion breed.

We filled out the adoption application for Mojo and found there were two Newf mix pups available nearby. Unfortunately, the pups were adopted almost immediately prior to our inquiry. My heart felt a bit more crushed. Tim reminded me that things would work out the way they were supposed to, that the dog that was meant for us would find us as they always have. In my mind, we had to do our part too; we had to keep looking so that dog knew we were here.

Trying once more, we found more Newf pups in Boston. They were 8 months old and living in a barn-type situation. When I inquired, I was told that these pups were “the dumbest dogs in existence,” eliminating in their own crates, and that we had better commit soon because there was only one left and another interested party. The experience of dealing with their caretaker was nothing short of unpleasant and replete with comments about prospective adopters being “dicks.” This only made us more determined to rescue this Newf from his situation and himself.

Our application had been accepted for the Newf and we planned to meet him on Saturday after Tim returned from skiing in Stowe. Also, after checking on Mojo, we learned that our application was never received. After a phone call, we were as good as approved. We simply had to resubmit the paperwork and set up a home visit. Things were finally lining up!

FATES COLLIDE

In my excitement, I posted to Facebook one picture of the Great Pyr and another projecting what our Newf would grow into. That’s when the miracle happened.

A woman whom I had never met contacted me saying that she had a Landseer male nearly 2 years old who needed to be rehomed. Her youngest of three daughters required extensive medical care and the others were your average handful – times two. Stretched thin with responsibilities and plagued by the decision to give up her Newf, she ultimately felt her dog deserved more attention. “I saw my friend comment on your Newf picture. Are you interested in ours?” she asked.

I emailed the photo she sent to Tim’s Blackberry and told him there was another Newf. He asked where. I couldn’t believe it. This woman could have lived anywhere. “She’s FIFTEEN MINUTES AWAY!” Tim typed back, “Make it happen! I’ll be home at 3:00.”

MEETING SHAMUS

The woman and her husband arrived at 4:00. It was a difficult meeting at best. The couple obviously loved their dog so much that they wanted better for him. Tim and I felt a strong connection with Shamus immediately, but felt we had to stifle our excitement out of respect. We showed them the home we’ve built around dogs, complete with wood floors for easy clean-up, carpeted stairs for traction, two dog doors, a fenced in yard, toys and dog beds everywhere. Shamus investigated it all thoroughly and seemed to approve. We each parted with the understanding that Shamus would go home, say good-bye to the children and we would pick him up that Sunday. That night we cancelled with the woman in Massachusetts.

To us, Sunday rested on the horizon of eternity. We couldn’t pass the time fast enough. As torturous as it was for us, it was equally torturous for the family waiting to let him go. On Saturday morning, the phone rang. “Can you pick Shamus up today instead?”

A BITTERSWEET EVENT

When we arrived at the house, the deep gray of a late winter day hung on the faces of everyone present – except for Shamus. He came bounding over the bushes through the mud and mulch, leaping toward us and barking a huge hello. The oldest daughter hid her crying eyes in the crook of her mother’s arm as her mother hugged her and told her it was okay to wait in the house. My own tears spilled beyond the boundary of my lashes and mingled with the driveway puddles. We promised the young girl that we would take care of Shamus. She nodded silently, turned and slowly walked away.

The girl’s grandfather gave us a stern look as he signed over the dog license. “So, you’re the ones who are taking my dog away.” We tried to assure him, too, that we would take great care, but there seemed to be no way to console their pain. Thankfully, Shamus didn’t need consolation. He hopped right into the back of the car and we drove off toward home.

THE TRANSITION

As we drove off, Shamus stared out the back window, perplexed and seeming to wonder why his family hadn’t come too. I tried to hold back my own tears as I watched him watching. He sat that way until we drew closer to his new home. Then, he turned forward and took in the scenery, snuggling between us both. By then, our excitement had returned and Shamus seemed to feel it.

We had previously scheduled Mojo’s home visit for that night and the interviewers who knew him best thought we made terrific candidates for adoption. When they came, we learned that Mojo’s eyesight had grown far worse since his original posting and his sight would soon be gone entirely. In a home with three floors and stairs into the dog yard, we feared that our setting wasn’t as ideal as we’d hoped. We decided to give Shamus a chance to settle in alone for awhile.

A VERY HAPPY BEGINNING

Shamus, immediately accepting us as his own, has helped to mend our hearts with his constant gift of joy. While I know Shamus still thinks of his family sometimes (he often licks the faces of the small children he encounters to get his fix), he also feels like he belongs here and he has for some time. This weekend we celebrated our one year anniversary since Shamus adopted us and it has been an amazing year at that. We are happy, healed and whole once more.

Watch for tomorrow’s post chronicling Shamus’ homecoming on video as well as a mini-journal of our first humorous adventures via a select collection of tweets.

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