Rediscovery

Have you ever given up a part of yourself so gradually that you didn't really notice, only to rediscover years later that part of you that was lost? That is the best way I can describe what happened to me recently.

As a kid, I dearly loved dogs. We had poodles mostly. My mother had a white toy poodle named Snowy when I was very young. When she had puppies, we kept one, another white one whom we named Flipper. After he was gone, we were dog-less for a few years, until I was in middle school. I wanted a new dog more than anything, so much so that I staged a month-long campaign right before my 13th birthday. I posted signs all over our house that read, "I want a dog." I added the word "dog" to my dad's grocery shopping list. I left notes for him in his car and on the milk carton in the fridge and on the bathroom mirror. To be honest, I really didn't think any of this would work. Both he and my mom maintained emphatically that we would not be getting a dog.

When the day of my birthday arrived, I was all prepared to be sufficiently complacent about whatever my present was. I wouldn't be rude, but I certainly wouldn't be happy. I remember sitting on the couch in our living room, my dad across the room in his chair. He said something like "I know how much you wanted a dog, and we're sorry, but it's just not going to work out right now." As I prepared my despondent look, I noticed something small and black buried deep in my dad's lap. A closer look revealed a tiny, toy poodle pup just eight weeks old. I don't believe I had ever been happier or more surprised than I was in that moment. I took this little bundle of fur in my hands, and all was right with the world. Her name was Misty, and she was all mine.

My love for dogs continued as I grew up. I remember wearing a t-shirt in college that said, "Have you hugged your dog today?" I assumed that as an adult, I would always be a dog owner. I assumed wrong. When I got married, I quickly learned that my husband did not share my love for canine creatures. He really has little use for pets of any kind. He grew up on a small farm, and in that world, animals are good for only two things: food and labor. You raise them to eat, or you keep them because they serve some purpose. They kept cats on this farm to kill the mice, but they didn't even give them names. To me, pets (especially dogs!) were part of the family. Gerald had zero understanding of such a concept. While I never made a conscious decision, I guess on some level I must have decided that as long as Gerald would let me have as many children as I wanted, I would live without a dog.

And so I did. For many years. During that time, I didn't think about it much. It's as if that part of me was lost, but so gradually that I didn't notice. Little by little, I forgot how much I loved dogs. I enjoyed petting other people's dogs, but I never considered having one of my own. Then, about 11 years ago, we were given a Dachshund puppy by our then best friends. I'm not sure how I managed to get that one past Gerald; I think Joanne simply gave her to Shulamith, and there she was! Little Chloe was adorable, but she turned out to be the most difficult dog on the planet. I am SO not kidding about this. I don't even have the emotional energy to go into the gory details, so you will have to trust me. Whatever you're thinking, it was most certainly worse.

We had Chloe for 10 years, and that experience buried my love for dogs deep beneath my consciousness. Moreover, since Gerald's opinion of these animals was only reinforced by our time with Chloe, I never imagined I would own another dog. And I still don't....technically. But pictured above is Kitty, Shulamith and Mathew's 5-month old Boxer puppy. Although she is not my dog per se, she lives in my house, runs in my back yard, takes me for walks (definitely not the other way around), and cuddles with me daily. I love her. It's like the dog lover inside of me has found its way back. That part of me that was temporarily lost has been rediscovered.