Chapter Twelve Somewhere Between Dreams and Reality
Chapter Twelve
Somewhere Between Dreams and Reality
“Are you sure Dad’s going to be okay with this?” Amanda asks after school when she pulls out a kitchen stool to sit beside me. “Remember when I begged for a puppy and he said no?”
“You were seven years old,” I remind her as I open my laptop, “and Connor was a tyrant, in the throes of the terrible fours. It just wasn’t the right time, but believe me, your father’s a dog person. That’s what we did on our first date. We took our dogs for a walk. I’ve told you that story.”
She rolls her eyes. “Yes, but I try not to think about you guys being romantic. That’s just gross.”
I laugh and call up the SPCA website, which I’ve been staring at since breakfast. “Either way, he thinks it’s a good idea, as long as you do your fair share and take him for walks.”
“Dad or the dog?” she asks, and I laugh again.
“The dog, of course.” I direct the mouse pointer to the adoptions page and bring up all dogs in the province.
“And how do you know it’ll be a him?” Amanda asks. “Maybe we’ll find a girl dog.”
“I’m open to whatever you want,” I reply. “We’ll look at every dog that needs a home, regardless of gender. I was creeping the site earlier, and there’s one in particular that spoke to me, but I don’t want to influence you too much. This is supposed to be your dog, not mine, so it’s your choice.”
“Okay,” she replies. “Let’s have a look, and don’t tell me which one you like. Let’s see if we gravitate toward the same one.”
“Good plan.”
I click on the first page, which shows headshots of each dog with their age, gender, and location. From there we click on “View Details” for more pictures and to read a description of the dog’s breed and personality.
“I’m going to look at all of them before I express an opinion,” Amanda says, but as soon as we click on the first dog and read the description, she melts and thinks he’s the one.
This happens again for the next dog, and the one after that, so I quickly become immune to her decision-making and wait until we’ve seen all sixteen dogs.
“What do you think?” I ask.
She runs her middle finger over the touch pad and calls up a dog named Sniper. “I kind of like this guy,” she says.
“He was my choice too!”
Sniper is a five-year-old cane corso mix weighing sixty-six pounds, described as calm and friendly, playful, and great on a leash.
“He looks like he always has a smile on his face,” I add. “And it says he does a happy dance when he hears his name.”
“Mom, he’s at the Dartmouth shelter,” she says. “We could go see him right now.”
I check my watch and feel a rush of excitement. “They’re open until five. Let’s do it.”
I shut my laptop, and we both vacate our stools, dash to the foyer, and grab our coats and purses.
“We’re coming, Sniper!” Amanda says as we hurry out the front door.
“I’m so sorry,” the volunteer at the front desk says to us when we burst through the shelter doors at 4:45 p.m. “Sniper was adopted today, and the new owners just picked him up.”
Amanda seems unwilling to accept this. “But he was on the website a half hour ago. And we hit all green lights coming here.”
The volunteer grimaces. “I’m sorry that you came all this way, but I didn’t have time to update the website until ten minutes ago.”
Amanda turns to me. “I’m so disappointed.”
“Me too.”
We just spent the entire car ride talking about Sniper and how he was perfect for us. We discussed sleeping arrangements and who would walk him at different times of the day.
“What kind of dog are you looking for?” the volunteer asks.
Her badge says Dolly, which strikes a chord in me because that was the name of Nate’s dog when we first met. “We don’t have any particular breed in mind. We’re just looking for a dog that we feel a connection to.”
Dolly comes around the front desk to talk to us. “It’s hard to get a sense of that from a website,” she says. “You really have to meet the dog in person.”
I nod because I believe that’s true.
“We do have another little guy who hasn’t been added to the website yet, if you’d like to meet him,” Dolly says.
I look at Amanda, and she shrugs a shoulder. “We might as well.” She turns to Dolly. “What’s his name?”
“Oscar. But I have to be up front with you. He has some health issues.”
Amanda inclines her head. “What kind?”
I’m happy to let my daughter do the talking because this is supposed to be her dog. I want her to have the same sense of companionship and devotion that I’d had with Scooter, who had eased so much of my pain when I was younger.
“He just had surgery to remove a tumor in his abdomen,” Dolly tells us. “But the good news is that it wasn’t cancerous, so he’s on the mend. But he’s ten years old, and he has a heart murmur.”
Amanda shakes her head. “What does that mean?”
“It means he has some abnormal blood flow in his heart. It could be caused by a few things—a leaky valve, or an enlarged ventricle. He’ll need to be monitored, and he may eventually require daily medication. That can get pricey, and not everyone is up for that kind of commitment.”
“Is that why he’s here?” Amanda asks.
“No, not at all. Sadly, his owner was a senior citizen, living alone, and she passed away in her sleep. The neighbor heard Oscar howling and found him with her on the bed.”
“Oh, God,” I say, raising my hand to my mouth. “That’s so sad.”
“Yes, and it was difficult for the family because none of them was in a position to take him.” She gives me a look. “Poor Oscar’s been quite brokenhearted. He’s been crying a lot, especially at night.”
Amanda turns to me, and we exchange a look of shared understanding.
“Can we meet him?” I ask.
Dolly glances at the clock on the wall, and I know it’s time for her to finish her shift and go home. Nevertheless, she speaks cheerfully. “Of course you can. He’s out back. Come this way.”
Amanda and I follow her through a glass door to a long narrow room with cages on either side.
Oscar is inside a crate on the right. When we reach him, he’s sitting up, with a plastic cone fastened around his neck.
His glossy coat is gold and black with gray highlights, and his ears are perky. His short tail wags vigorously.
“This is why we don’t have him on the website yet,” Dolly says. “We need to wait for his stitches to heal.”
At the sight of him, Amanda melts. “Oh, my goodness,” she coos. “What kind of dog is he?”
“He’s a Yorkshire terrier,” Dolly replies.
I turn to her. “I thought Yorkies were small.”
“You’re thinking of the teacup size,” Dolly replies. “Oscar is a giant Yorkie. He weighs sixteen pounds.”
I kneel beside Amanda in front of the crate, and Dolly stands back to give us a moment to say hello to Oscar, who sniffs the backs of our hands through the cage door.
“Aren’t you a sweetheart,” I say lovingly, because I’m falling fast for this little guy, who peers up at me with sad, chocolate brown eyes.
I feel like I might dissolve into a sticky puddle of pity for this poor creature who has lost his beloved person and was removed from his home, taken to a shelter, and operated on.
I want desperately to take him into my arms and hug him.
“We can bring him out if you’d like,” Dolly says.
“Yes, please,” Amanda replies.
Dolly unlatches the door and pulls it open. Oscar slowly, hesitatingly, ambles out.
“He’s a very special boy,” Dolly says. “He’s loyal and sociable, and he has the bladder of a heavyweight champ. I really want him to find a good home.”
“He deserves nothing less.” I run my hand down his smooth, glossy coat and give him a good scratch. He looks up at me with gleaming eyes and whimpers, and my heart throbs agonizingly in my chest because I swear I can feel his grief.
I glance up at Dolly. “When will he be ready to leave the shelter?”
“Any time after the vet sees him tomorrow,” she says, “as long as there are no surprises. Though he’ll need some follow-up care.”
“And how does the adoption process work?” I ask.
There are no other questions in my mind because I already know that this is our dog. I wish we could take him home right now. I hate that he has to spend another night in the shelter alone, without us.
“First, you’ll need to fill out an application online,” Dolly explains, “and if you’re approved, you can come and get him right away.”
“We’ll do that tonight,” I reply.
“Wonderful. My supervisor will be here at eight thirty tomorrow morning, and I’ll let her know you’ve already met Oscar, and I’ll put in a good word for you.”
Amanda, while scratching behind Oscar’s ears inside the cone, looks up at Dolly with tears and laughter in her eyes. “Thank you so much. I really love him.”
After that, it’s not easy to leave, but it’s past five o’clock. We get up off the floor, back away, and watch Dolly guide Oscar back into his cage. As soon as the cage door swings shut, he begins to whimper, and it breaks me in half.
“Don’t worry—he’ll be okay,” Dolly assures us as we return to the reception area. “We have a volunteer who comes in at six, and she stays until nine. She’s wonderful, and she’ll take him out and spend time with him in the playroom. She’ll tire him out, and he’ll sleep well until morning.”
When Oscar enters our house for the first time, he seems to already know this is his forever home and we are his new pack.
He leads the way up the front steps, tugging at the leash and wagging his tail continuously.
I unlock the front door and push it open, and he trots inside, where he waits for Amanda to unhook the leash from his harness.
Still wearing the plastic cone around his head, he sniffs his way from room to room, and we follow him with amusement and delight.
After he gets a sense of the place, Amanda shows him his water bowl and fills his food bowl with kibble that the shelter gave us. He immediately gobbles it down but looks up at us repeatedly as he chews, as if to assure himself that we won’t disappear while he’s distracted.