Something About Her
August 2003.
She was the runt of the litter. At five weeks and weighing maybe two pounds, she was kind of a mess when we arrived at what we learned was a backyard breeder, a.k.a, a puppy mill. The owner, let’s call him CD for Creepy Dick, told us the biggest issues were her skin and food allergies. I crouched for a closer look at the sleeping pup with the raggedy white coat. The cement room was dank and smelled like vomit and dog shit. I worried I’d puke if I breathed the air too long.
“Yeah, she’s a little weak right now,” CD said. “Just get her on a special diet. Before long she’ll be right as rain.”
“Eventually we can give her regular food?” Bill asked.
“Oh, sure.” CD bobbed his head. “And she’s due her bath. That’s why her coat looks funky. Wasn’t expecting you so soon. Bath’ll fluff her out and she’ll look fine. Now mind you, she probably won’t qualify as a show dog.” CD pulled a cigarette out of his shirt pocket and stuck it in his mouth. He knew better than to light the thing which wobbled as he spoke. “Oh, and by the way. Haven’t been able to lay my hands on her papers, but trust me, she’s a purebred, she is.” He poked Bill. “That’s why you’re getting her for eight hundred instead of a thousand six.” CD chortled. “And I should call the cops because it’s a steal! Hyuck hyuck hyuck.”
“What do you think, Hon?” Bill rubbed my shoulder.
“She doesn’t look like any of the pictures but she’s kind of sweet.”
“Can you and I chat outside?” Bill asked CD. He was desperate for fresh air.
“Let’s pop into my office. I’ll pull up some figures.” CD led Bill to the other side of the cement block room where they entered a metal door plastered with dog signs.
Back in July I was multi-tasking: drafting an essay and half watching a TV show I won’t name because it’s too embarrassing. I happened to glance at the television when a woman came into the frame carrying one of those plush designer pet carriers. Peeking out of it was an adorable pup. I fell in love. I paused the television and yelled to Bill who rushed into the family room. I pointed. “That’s it, Bill! Our new dog.”
“I thought we were getting a spaniel or a terrier.” Bill’s eyes narrowed. “That’s a Bichon Frisé. One of those powder puffs. I can’t walk around the neighborhood with it.
“Why? They’ll take away your guy license?”
“They might.” Bill returned to his office to do an online search; he brought out an image of a meticulously groomed adult show dog.
“It’s kind of stupid looking,” I said.
“It’s a special cut. But some people keep its coat natural.”
“It looks very soft. Find me one.”
He found a seller in Milpitas. We scheduled a visit.
A month later Bill was in an office chatting with CD and I was in a dismal cement room, squatting next to a damp cardboard box stuffed with dishtowels. I stroked the pathetic-looking dog with the thin coat. She bore no resemblance to the TV pup, yet there was something about her. The men returned. “No problem.” CD shook Bill’s hand. “Give me a ringie-dingie if you change your mind. I’ll yell when the next litter’s delivered.” CD left the shit-vomit smelling room and headed to the office, lighting his a cigarette along the way.
Bill crouched. “He expects another litter in a couple weeks. We’ll come back.”
I continued to pet the snoozing pup. “What about this one?”
“Someone’ll buy her.”
“You think so?”
“Sure,” Bill said with a trace of uncertainty. “He reached to pet the dog who’d begun to snore. “If we leave now we can miss traffic.”
“I want this one.”
“Honey…”
“Bill.” We had a stare off.
“Fine. We’ll come back next week and if no one’s bought her, he’ll drop the price.” I shook my head and picked up the dog. “I hate to say it, Sweetheart, but I don’t think she’s going to last a month.”
“Then she’ll spend a few weeks in a home that doesn’t stink.”
“Let’s sleep on it."
I shook my head and pressed the dog to my chest.
Bill sighed. “I’ll give him a deposit and arrange to come back next week to pick—”
“We’re bringing her home today.”
“I don’t think—”
“I’m not leaving her.” I squeezed the pup tighter. She woke and licked my chin.
We named her Hailey for the comet; a few months earlier I’d ordered a photo of it flying over Stonehenge. Bill pointed out Halley’s Comet is spelled differently but I preferred “Hailey” and pointed out that if we spelled it like the comet, people would pronounce her name “Hal-E” which I didn’t like. Bill printed “Hailey” on the adoption form. She slept in my lap on the drive home. We drove with the windows down and before long I almost didn’t notice the smell.
Bill squeezed my hand, “Happy anniversary,” he said. He lifted my hand and kissed it. “Do I still have to buy you roses?” I side-eyed him. “Stupid question,” he muttered to himself. “And don’t forget you’re in charge of walking her.”
“Yes, Dear. Your manhood shall remain intact.”
“I’m serious.”
“Of course you are.”
We stopped at Pets-R-Us to buy a kennel and a bed. That first night Hailey lasted nearly 30 minutes in the kennel. Her whimpers were unbearable. “She misses her family,” I told Bill when I unlocked the kennel and brought her into our bed. “This is all new to her. Once she’s used to us, she’ll be fine in that cage.”
Bill sold the kennel on eBay the following spring. Within a month of adoption, Hailey and Bill were fixtures at our nearby park. Bill arrived home at 6:00 every evening, put Hailey’s leash on her and the two headed out to meet up with the other dog parents as I cooked dinner. And for the next eleven years she slept in our bed, snuggled between the two of us.
When Bill died Hailey took his place as my best friend and confidant. Like Bill, she was sweet, trustworthy, dependable and even-tempered. Hailey tolerated my mood swings. She kept her distance when I was stressed, snuggled close when I was sick or just sad, and wagged her tail when I was happy.
Our granddaughter arrived almost a year after Hailey. Natalie adored the pup whose coat had finally gotten thick and furry and so very soft.
Initially, the affection was’t reciprocated. Hailey, clearly upset that her position in our house had been usurped, kept her distance. She would have nothing to do with Nat. For two years that child did everything to endear herself to the dog. She even tried to win her over by dangling food over the side of her high chair but Hailey wouldn’t so much as sniff it. One day I heard Hailey yelping. Recognizing her distressed cry, I rushed into our living room to see that Natalie had her tail in a tight grip; my one year old granddaughter was trying her best to pull the dog toward her. But rather than turn and nip or even growl as another dog would, Hailey just kept trying to pull herself free. Eventually, however, the two became best buds.
March 4, 2019 my sixteen year old darling pup crossed over that rainbow bridge. I convinced myself that she and Bill found each other, then discovered a sweet-smeling pasture where the two played all day and curled up each night to snuggle under the stars.
"Saving one dog will not change the world, but surely for that one dog, the world will change forever." ~ Karen Davison, author A DOG'S GUIDE TO HUMANS
Beautiful ❤️
This story made me sneeze out loud! (And shed a few tears.) Nice job, CJ.