The door opened and closed with a stream of workout clad individuals heading to their hot yoga, cycle, and weights. The Vitamixes were whirring up fruit and protein powdered health. And, kids squealed as they successfully made their shots from the squeaky rubber floor. Nothing out of the ordinary that afternoon.
It was early December 2021. And, I’d taken a seat at the front desk of the local gym for the night shift only twice weekly for a month now. Working at a gym where most of my small community visited seemed like a good place to make friends in a town where I had arrived from across the country only a year before.
However, this afternoon did turn out to be anything but ordinary. As I rolled back and forth in my chair daydreaming out the large front windows at the changing colors of Fall, I slowly started tuning into my co-workers conversation with a regular member. He was early twenties, and from what I had seen, spent the bulk of his day happily shooting hoops, lifting weights, and just hanging out. He was always friendly, but since I’d been there such a short time, I didn’t know much more about him than my observations and short interactions. Their conversation drew me in because of the topic. He apparently needed to give his dog to someone that night, otherwise he would have no choice but to surrender her to a shelter the following morning. His recent move back from Colorado had him living with a friend and their landlord was none too happy to hear his dog barking non-stop while at home alone. I could feel the sadness in him that this was a heart wrenching situation. And, the longing for her to go to a home of at least someone he could vet versus an uncertain life ahead in the wake of a second shelter stint.
Growing up, we always had dogs. Most recently Sheba and Sawbones (unfortunate names not given to them by us kids, but instead what my dad called them and therefore “stuck”). They were the sweetest dogs. Sheba would jump up onto our old Honda 3-wheeler and gleefully ride shotgun with me on the many well-worn trails on our forty acre property. Sawbones liked to snuggle, but very much disliked being dressed up in our outgrown girl dresses and bonnets. Growing up, I was never without dog companions. Reggae came before Sheba and Sawbones. And, Sheba and Sawbones were with us until after I left home and on to college.
As an adult, there were jobs where I laid my head in hotels five days a week. And, others, that required long hours of devotion before I was done for the day. It never seemed like the right time to have a dog of my own.
In a split second, though, I offered to take a look at this dog that evidently barked a lot, had some dachshund in her (one of the only breeds I was never too fond of), from a guy who I barely knew. This dog happened to be right there in his car in the parking lot. I cautiously walked outside, he opened the door to his red SUV, and instantly the most gentle large brown eyes were staring back at me. The dog jumped up and down in excitement and reached for a round brown ring, clearly a toy she wanted to share with me. It took less than five seconds to make my decision. “Ok. I’ll come get her from you tonight after work.” And, with that, I was a dog owner.
The rest of my shift was spent vacillating between this being such an exhilarating moment to one of what did I just do? If she barked all the time, maybe she was a terror that would upend my peaceful day to day. What if she had a major health condition and he was really just trying to unload her due to that? So many scenarios went through my mind. Ultimately, I decided to just stay the course.
Nine pm came and I followed Apple Maps to this guys home, knocked, and proceeded with the short exchange of the dog, which I now knew was named Oreo, a reference to her all over black coat and white belly. I could tell he was even more sad now that this was a reality and wanted things to go as quickly as possible. He had gathered her belongings - a kennel, an unfinished bag of dog food, and her ring toy, which I loaded into the car, followed by Oreo. In barely more than the seconds it took for me to decide to take her, she was transferred over, and I was on my way again traversing through the dark roads, now with a second passenger.
She sat eager, yet calm, in the front seat. He had said she loved riding in the car. This being a new experience, and me an unfamiliar person, I still found it surprising. I passed the time telling her all about myself and her soon to be new home. Upon arriving, she ardently scampered around the perimeter of each room smelling and gaining familiarity with the contents. Her belongings contained no bed. And, the kennel was much too small for her current size, most likely having been acquired when she was still a puppy. So, I made as comfy as a bed I could out of soft blankets cocooned into a shape that I thought might be pleasing to her. She understood it was “her bed,” somehow differentiated from the other soft things laying around, the couch, or the owners bed in this strange place. Like dogs do, she did a few circles and paws at the blankets and contently curled up. And, that was that. She had claimed this as her home and me as her new person.
There didn’t seem to be confusion at any point over the changes henceforth. We started a (presumed) new routine of waking times, feeding times, and walk times, which she took in stride. We drove together to buy some more belongings - a harness and leash, food and water bowls, more toys, and most importantly some treats. And, while she now also had a newly bought bed for lounging, it was not her sleeping bed since every night after the first she joined me in my bed, king size and half empty so why should she sleep on the floor?
It’s not often I’m a believer in fate or the universe’s plan, barring the timing of Oreo coming into my life. In addition to starting at the gym, I had simultaneously left a full-time job (that I am convinced aged me ten years in the only one and a half years I was there) and started a new full-time position back at a company I had previously worked for, in a role that was what I had dreamed of doing when I was there formerly, and most importantly was now fully remote. After twenty years of having jobs that restricted the ability to have a dog, here I was a month in working from home and a dog in need shows up in my lap (literally and figuratively). She has been the best accompaniment to daily life with these minimal work interactions, other than the infrequent Teams call. In the depths of Minnesota Winter, when negative forty degree windchill days, or even single temps, would keep me inside, she gets me out at least three times for some movement, a break, and fresh air. When I was sick with the flu, she could easily gauge my discomfort and napped in bed alongside me for three days, not nudging me for extra walks or to throw her ball, fully knowing that all I could muster was the energy to take her out for her scheduled potty breaks and the rest of the time her energy and love was needed in return. She’s made errands so much more fun. Heading to a mundane destination, I delight in her delight sticking her head far outside the open window to find the movement of the passing breeze and see with her own eyes the greater world beyond. I enjoy the comfort in watching a movie with another warm body. She’s a conversation starter with other dog owners, or just fellow dog lovers, at the dog park or on the trail. She’s made every day since December fifth better than it was before that day.
I’d like to think I’ve enriched her life immensely too. She purrs like a cat when she gets belly rubs, when I nestle my head in her neck, and particularly in the morning when she gets head kisses as a ritual when I’m done getting ready. She enthusiastically awaits her visits with her best friend, Saffie, my parent’s dog. She hastens under the duvet every night like clockwork, cleaning herself for a deep sleep after a satisfyingly full day.
I’ve often wondered how much she remembers of her former life. She was one year and 3 months old on that day she became part of my family of one. Still quite young. But, in dogs years, also quite far along in her life experience. The guy I had gotten her from had adopted her from a shelter when she was about three months old. After some time, curiosity won, and I painstakingly moved my index finger over and over on my iPhone screen until I had scrolled back almost three years of posts on that shelters instagram page in the hopes of finding some advertisement of her being ready for adoption. What I found was even better - a picture of her on the day of her intake, being looked over by vet techs, a cone on her head, and a dressing being wound on one of her paws! In a post shortly after, I spotted a familiar set of ears in a group of dogs walking, a head I would know anywhere. It was so amazing to see a peek into her life before! I commented on the post, sharing details of how Oreo came into my life in a round about way from their shelter. And, how much she was loved. I asked if they could share any stories on what prompted her to be brought into the shelter. Did she have a life on the streets for a short time? Was she just one of the many puppies dropped off from an unwanted litter? Unfortunately, my comment was deleted by the shelter and no response was given from them, public or private. My veterinarian said they probably legally didn’t want to share any details in case Oreo had issues with her health as well as since I was not directly the person to adopt her from them. But, it was still disappointing.
None of the negative consequences rehearsed through my head that night at the gym after I had committed to taking her came to fruition. She had no unusual health conditions, no bad behaviors that needed to be worked through, and the dachshund in her brought out the affectionate and loyal side of the breed. Her prior caregiver did not tell the truth about having taken her to the vet. Upon calling the one he said he visited, they said he did in fact make an appointment, but it was cancelled and she was never actually seen there for a checkup. However, there was no harm done because when I brought her in she wasn’t behind on vaccines - the ones she had received at the shelter had carried her through to the exact time she saw the vet with me. And, no out of the ordinary treatments or exams were needed. Her barking did not carry through to her time with me. It seemed to have been a reaction to being left home alone for too many hours by a young kid who I assume didn’t realize he had taken on more than he could handle, both in time and in finances. Neither Oreo nor I fault him in his decision in adopting a dog, nor in giving one up. I am happy that he took the chance to give love to one of the abundant unhoused animals in this world, even though it didn’t work out as planned. In my hasty decision, it might not have turned out as well as it did for me either. In optimal circumstances, being a dog steward should be a more thought out commitment. But, we all do our best in life. And, sometimes no matter how prepared we think we are, things are different than expected and life happens. I’m convinced she was brought into my life for a reason, at just the right time. And, the prior owners lessons learned (and love gained in his time with Oreo) will prepare him in the future should he want to try welcoming another dog into his home. Oreo’s big brown eyes still get me every time, just like the first time I laid eyes on her in that gym parking lot four years ago.
