“But, we don’t need another dog.”
I knew that’s what he’d say.
My husband, Justin, wasn’t raised around animals the way that I was.
They don’t feel vital to survival to him the way they do to me.
When our then 15 year old daughter, Alena, showed me the picture of a white, fluffy, mop of a puppy available through the local rescue,
I think she knew she didn’t have to beg.
She promised he’d be solely her responsibility, and she would use her own money to pay for him.
I sighed a little, and told her to ask her dad, knowing he would say the aforementioned,
but that would be the worst of it.
The puppy needed extra time for adoption.
He’d rescued his own self from a puppy mill.
Authorities were alerted to the case when he and one other puppy had broken free and had run for help.
All in all they found 27 puppies living there.
They all tested positive for Parvo, and all but two didn’t make it.
That little white mop and one other puppy taken were the only ones who did.
When he got the all-clear with his health,
Justin and Alena drove to San Francisco to get him.
They reported that the foster mom came towards them from around the corner and it looked like she was having to drag him.
Knowing him now, he was probably protesting the bow that they’d put in his hair.
He’s no fancy, bow wearing dog.
Just give him a belly rub, and unsupervised access to the cat litter.
We named him Gimli after the hairy troll on Lord of the Rings. It suited his squatty body, and the fact that you could barely see his eyes, we thought.
Gimli and Alena became inseparable;
A perfect match since he liked being constantly held, and she liked being at home.
If she was sitting, he was in her lap.
He’d lay against the front door if she was gone, waiting for her to come back,
but, girls grow up and move away.
The years passed, and now it was her turn.
Gimli sat beside me on the couch the day she left, and together we quietly watched her pack up her coffee mugs to take to her new home.
We didn’t take our eyes off of her.
She avoided looking at both of us.
I think he and I felt the same that day, watching, keeping our aches internal.
Something in you hurts in a brand new way when your best girl’s moving truck comes.
Her new apartment did not allow dogs, so we had agreed that we’d keep him with us.
We’d all bonded to him, and he was used to it here.
He’d see her when she visited home.
For months after she moved out, Gimli lay by the door, unmoving.
With every sound outside his ears perked up.
He was hoping it was her, even though it rarely was.
We’ve filled his heart and belly rub tank as full as we can here,
but it’s been obvious from the day that she left that no one could replace his girl.
The days went on, and Alena got married to a wonderful man that we all love.
They wanted to try to start a family, but their house wasn’t big enough for more than them, so
they started looking, but everywhere they looked their search would grow cold.
The California rental market can feel somewhat impossible.
It was getting to the point that they were about to give up, when one day I got a call from our landlord letting me know that the house attached to ours had suddenly become available.
She asked me if I knew of anyone who’d be interested.
I called Alena, trying to keep my voice sounding calm, but the hope inside me bubbled out.
I hoped it didn’t scare her off.
In October, Alena and her husband, Aaron, moved in right next door.
I cannot even explain the joy I feel having her here, seeing her car pull in.
It’s been incredible.
I can’t even imagine how it will be for me when the grandchildren DO come.
We worked for months fixing up the place and making it the sweetest home.
I really wish it was possible to explain this to a dog who still gets so excited every time she comes to ask to borrow something, or to tell me something that he can hardly contain himself.
It’s like he knew that if he just kept laying there,
all his waiting would pay off.
The other day my phone dinged, and when I picked it up, I saw she had sent three photos that confused me for a minute.
They were of Gimli’s grinning face, covered in mud, at HER back door.
He had figured out how to get through a small opening between our fences, and he was just sitting there, elated, smiling up at her.
I like to picture him innocently walking through, casually sniffing the ground for bugs, and twigs, and flower petals, only to catch a movement from way across the field out of the corner of his eye.
I imagine him then, through the amber glow of her kitchen window, spotting the silhouette he knows;
One that’s appeared in every dream he’s had while sleeping by the front door,
waiting for her to come back home.
I see him running up that field like his tail is set on fire, thinking,
“My girl! My girl! It’s her! I’ve found her! I thought she was gone forever, but that’s her!”
The picture she sent…..I’ve never seen such a doggy smile.
That day, she came looking amused, hauling him back to our house in her arms,
laughing that she guessed we needed to secure the gate better.
I just took one look at his face, smiled, and whispered to him that he’s a good boy, and
I know. I feel it, too.
Me and Gimli are on the same page:
Relieved, in disbelief, and elated.
I think he thinks he did it.
Our girl came back home.
Mom Outnumbered
Hi! My name is Kerri Green; Wife to Justin, and mother to four highly entertaining daughters -Alena, Chloe, Tessa, and Paige. I am an artist, a writer, a daycare provider, a lover of people, a believer that there is humor and beauty in all things, and the author of Mom Outnumbered; a blog about real family life, and my observations of it. My goal is to make people laugh, to be there for them when they cry, and most importantly, to let them know that they are not at all alone in this up and down world. I live with my family in Sebastopol California, and I am opening the window into our life. So welcome! Come in. Sit down. Just please don’t mind the mysterious wet spots.
