Dear Violet

Dear Violet,

You might wonder how I could’ve written to Redford before I wrote to you.  Lots of reasons, I guess.  He’s so loud and there all the time.  He’s also my replacement dog for Boonie, whom I’m still mourning.  Mostly, though, I wrote to him first because I feel like I could fill tomes about you, and it’s hard for me to start.  Anne Lamott says to start with a one-inch square and just write about that.  I’ll start with how I got you.

My co-worker Taren had gotten Jake the Springer Spaniel-Lab Mix a year prior and was in LURVE with him.  She thought I should get a dog.  I said thanks but no thanks.  Too much of a tether to my house.  Sometimes I liked to go straight from work to the gym or out with my buddies and not come home until late.  Couldn’t do that if someone was at home in a kennel and going to piss herself.

Anyhow, one Saturday afternoon, Taren called.  She was at the shelter and there were these three little lab puppies that I had to come see.  I begged off with the excuse that I had just walked 20 miles.  (I really had just walked 20 miles; Wa and I were training to walk a marathon.)  She mentioned the shelter was open on Sunday afternoons, and I said I’d think about it.  I did think about it.  That was all.

Monday came around, and Taren offered to go to the shelter with me–good god, she was persistent.  I said OK, but I told her I didn’t want her to be disappointed if I didn’t adopt a dog.  We went inside, and those three lab puppies sure were cute, right there snuggled up in the first cage.  Most of the dogs were arfing, “Take me, take me,” and I died a little inside.  But then I turned around and saw you, a pit bull-lab mix, about 5 months old, brownish-black with a white chest and little white reflector pads on your heels.  The sheet posted on your kennel said in bold print ‘Cruelty/Confiscation’.  You stood up on the cage and stared deep in my eyes and licked my fingers.  That was it.  It was Thursday before I took you home, what with my having to cry to my therapist about it and the shelter’s being closed on Wednesdays and your having to get your lady-surgery, but that moment sealed the deal.  There was no backing out.

Rosie called me on the night I brought you home and demanded, “Nunu, what about the puppy?”

I said, “What about the puppy?”

“What did you name the puppy?” she demanded.

“Well, I haven’t named her anything yet,” I told her.

“You could name her Violet,” she said.  I don’t know where she came up with that, but it was perfect.

More anon.

Love,

Amy