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
Nunu, you kill me!