"I'm never getting another dog again." Those were the words I cried out to my mother on that October day. My father had just taken Randy, our beloved 14 year-old family dog to the vet. It was time and I was inconsolable. I cried as I saw Randy sitting in the backseat looking so sick as my dad pulled the car out of the garage. It's an image that still makes me weep now, 20 years later. I could not bear to ever go through this again and from that day forward, there would be no more dogs.
Randy was a wonderful, sweet and smart mixed breed with floppy ears and an adorable face. My dad, who had two daughters called him "son" and often pedaled around on his bike with Randy on a leash happily trotting beside him. Five years later my father passed away unexpectedly. I didn't remember many details from that time but I do remember that I tucked a note inside the casket right before they closed it. It said "Say hello to Rand y". It gave me some comfort to know they were together now. So me, the dog and animal lover went on through life with no pets after that.
I had a recurring dream over the years that Randy was still alive - he was a dog in his 20s and 30s which I knew was impossible but after all, anything is possible in a dream. I had been a child when we got Randy and now I was a young adult with a busy job and life an d now with a home of my own. A dog just didn't make sense.
Fast forward to 2005. I sat transfixed before the TV news one Sunday watching a live rescue from rooftops in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina. While the helicopter plucked people up one by one , I was fixated on a little white dog that was standing among the people on the roof of a building. "Please God, let them take the dog too." I thought to myself. Finally, the last man they rescued picked up the little dog and away they went to the safety of the helicoptor.
Now it was a few months later - Christmas time, and a series of events led me one Saturday to visit the local shelter - The North Shore Animal League. Mostly, it was that image of the little white dog from New Orleans that had somehow triggered me into thinking about getting a dog again. I debated if I should go and then ;finally decided that I would and "just look." It was getting dark and I couldn't find the street that the shelter was on and was about to turn around and go home but oddly, for whatever reason, I looked up and there was the street in front of me so I figured I'll just st op in for a few minutes since I've come this far but again, "I'm only gonna look". Famous last words.
I walked in and on every cage was a sign that said "Hurricane Rescue." I was shocked. Did not realize that any of those dogs and cats had made it all the way up to New York so many months after the Hurricane. They all looked so sad and tears immediately welled up in my eyes. Then I saw the sign that said "Nursery". I turned the corner and there he was. First cage on the top row. A little black ball of fur curled up and peering out at me. I put my finger through the cage to stroke his nose and his eyes followed me. Before too long, one of the workers swooped in and asked me if I wanted to hold him. "Sure!" I said. He was no more than 6 weeks old and cute as a button. I held him for a while and then the girl was back and she said the magic words - "Do you want him?". I thought how can I put this little guy - all alone with no mommy and no siblings back? He had been rescued from the ravaged south and God knows what he went through in those first 6 weeks of his life - he was so little and all alone in a strange place. "Oh my God what am I doing "Yes", I blurted out! That was it, they flipped the sign on his cage to signal that he was taken, put him back in the cage and whisked me off for paperwork, interviews, references, etc. I then was directed to a waiting room where other perspective nervous new "parents" sat. The large signs on the wall warned "Are you ready to give the next 15 years of your life to this animal?". Suddenly the door opened and the woman asked for the "lady from Garden City". I thought "Oh no, I've been rejected!". But instead she asked me if I could come back to the nursery because the puppy would not stop crying since I left him. OK, that was it! I knew it then, he was mine!
A few minutes later after being congratulated on my successful adoption, I left carrying my new little boy with not a clue as to what to do with him. I had nothing prepared and told no one where I was going that day. Boy, were some people going to be surprised. I tried to stick his little body in my large purse in the car but that lasted about 2 seconds so I ended up driving home with him on my lap. "What have I done?" I thought to myself. "Am I crazy? I'm not prepared for a dog let alone such a young puppy" - no crate, no puppy barricades , no toys, no food, no nothing.
As I turned down the street to my house, it seemed to all make sense. This day would have been my father's birthday and when I looked at the papers that the Animal League gave me, my new puppy had been born on the same date that Randy had died on so many years before. As my new little bundle of joy scampered onto my white living room rug and promptly tinkled, I knew his name: "Maxwell Joseph Randolph" - the last 2 names after my dad and his "brother" Randy. I knew that they were both were smiling down on this new little guy.
Elizabeth H.
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