Guardians of Chico

When I was growing up we had a dog; a black Pomeranian. He was, quite possibly, one of the yappiest dogs that ever lived. But we loved him. And he was awesome. Without fail, should I ever start to cry (even silently), within seconds I would hear the pitter-patter of his nails as he raced from any point in the house. Before the tear would reach the end of my cheek he would be on my lap -- front paws balanced on my shoulder, and tongue outstretched to lick the tear(s) away, as if to say "Don't worry, I'm here".

Dogs are awesome.

I remember when we got him. I was 13. Headgear in tact. Complete geek. I instantly fell in love with this little critter. You could hold him on the palm of your hand and he would look at you to say; a) don't drop me! and b) I love you too.

I loved him so much that in that moment I was completely petrified of how much it would hurt when he was gone. My mother tried to re-assure me by telling me that he would live at least 18 years and by then I would be 29. And I thought to myself; surely by then it won't hurt so much. After all, I'll be married with kids. There will be some emotional distance.

I had just turned 30 when he did finally pass away -- in his sleep thank god. And the pain was overwhelming. Not married, and not with kids (29 seemed so much older when I was 13) I was alone in my apartment packing to go shoot in New York. The call came and I was devastated. The only thing that eased the pain in my heart was hopping on a plane and flying away. I've learned over the years that immediate physical distance can makeshift for the emotional distance that only space and time can give you.

In any case, going through the haze of another break-up a couple years later, I found myself walking into the humane society one day -- maybe it was time for a dog?

I've always envisioned my life being or having simple components in amongst the extravagance of my dreams. Some of these simple components are: nice house, dog, Japanese garden in the backyard, etc. So maybe getting a dog would be a bridge to the life I'm looking to create. Maybe...

I walked in and was completely depressed by my experience. The kennels housed dozens of depressed dogs. I empathized with them. I too had been abandoned before. There we were, the dogs and I, commiserating with each other. We'd make eye contact, recognize the pathos in one another, and look away. One after the other the experience got worse. There is nothing sadder than a heartbroken girl walking through an animal shelter looking at depressed animals. It was a low point to say the least.

And then I saw him. Salvation. Chico -- a boxer. Hyper as could be and full of life. He practically leapt over his kennel door to greet me.

Now, entering the humane society, I wasn't serious about adopting. It was more a research trip. But this dog had me sold. So I approached the staff to inquire about Chico. Maybe I could take him for a walk and see if there was a real connection?

"No" the woman said harshly.

"No?" I asked. Confused. "I'd like to get to know him a bit better".

"Fill out an application", she said coldly. She slapped the piece of paper in front of me and then walked away.

I began to open my mouth in protest, but she shut her office door behind her. I stood there dumbfounded. How was I to commit to adoption (by filling out an application) if I can't even meet the dog first? This was stupid.

"It's not stupid", he said.

I turned around. Did I just say that out loud? Another employee was standing there with a smile on his face. This one was more friendly.

"First time here?" he said.

"Yep". I answered, "I guess I don't really know how this works -- I thought I could maybe take Chico for a walk and see if there is a connection".

"It doesn't work like that. They don't want people teasing the dogs after everything they've been through", he said "You fill out the application, then we select people who may be appropriate, and then you can meet him".

"It just seems like a huge commitment without getting to even know the dog first", I said.

He laughed. He must have appreciated my candid responses, "We only want people who are serious about adoption. You have to want the dog first -- then you can meet him".

But I didn't know if I wanted the dog. I was hoping that by spending more time with the dog I could be convinced/enlightened on how I might feel.

"So, I have to come in here ready and willing to adopt -- and then if my application suits the needs of the dog -- then maybe I can meet him?" I asked. It seemed a little dog-centric to me.

"Exactly", he said "It's for the protection of the dog. We don't care about you -- it's not about you".

At first I was insulted -- I mean, don't they want people to adopt? You think they would allow us to mingle with the dogs. Their way meant the dogs were lonely and isolated and slightly depressed. Surely some interaction was better than no interaction? But the Humane Society didn't see it that way. They'd rather have the dogs be isolated and safe than intermixing with people who are not good for them. Serious suitors need only apply.

Then it dawned on me that they might actually have a good thing going. Pre-screening applicants so that only the best for the dog would get through. It was genius! And so I said the next thing that came to my mind:

"Do you have any extra kennels for me?"