Day: September 18, 2009

Dear Violet,

You’ve always been different from Boone and Redford.  You chewed a few things when you were a baby, but it seemed like you got over that pretty quickly.  (You’ll still collect my things, but you don’t chew them.  I’ll come home these days to find a sneaker, a flip-flop, and a bra in your bed, all perfectly intact.)  Redford’s tail conducts a little symphony of joy all the time, a work of varied time signatures and tempos, but your tail has always had three settings:  side-slapping with joy, the metronome tick, and between your legs.  You’re smart, unlike your brothers, bless their hearts.  You memorize places where I put you back on-leash, and from then on, it’s like I have a force field around me when I hit those spots.  You won’t come within ten feet of me.  Though you don’t always follow the rules yourself, you are The Enforcer and sound the alarm whenever your brother is doing something naughty.

You love having play-dates and slumber parties with your friends:  Jackie, Barley, Raven, and Moby.  One time, I stupidly left Moby’s food bag on the floor.  I walked in to find Boonie sniffing at a giant, slobbery hole in the side.  I started to chastise him, but something else caught my eye.  You, looking like one of Dr. Seuss’s star-bellied sneeches, prostrate on the living room floor.  Sure enough, I took you all out for a walk and, ORP, you barfed up an enormous rainbow pile of Beneful.

From Day One you were terrified of children, and really anyone who didn’t love dogs.  You love to swim and dig your nose under the water (I call it The Bulldozer).  You love wrestling with your brother.  You send me on a total guilt trip when we haven’t been hiking in a few days.  You prefer to be rubbed on your chest and belly and will contort yourself on the couch to make it happen.  Despite my dismay, you insist on digging holes in my yard when I’m not looking, and then stare at me wide-eyed and innocent when I see your nose covered in red clay and give you a talking to.  Redford’s all ADD and will wander away from his food mid-bowl, and you’ll slink over and munch quietly until I yell at you.  If he’s being particularly focused one day, you’ll run to the door and arf as if there’s something he should be aware of, just to distract him.  When you lie down, it’s in full frog pose.  I sent a picture to ihasahotdog.com, so you have been immortalized.

That horrible day, when you popped out of the woods after four hours missing, I thought my body would fall to pieces.  I had never experienced relief like that before, which made it all the more horrible when Laura told me Boone was dead.  For days, I’d tell Wa, “I feel like I’m dying.”  And she’d ask if I was suicidal, and I’d say no, I didn’t feel like dying, I felt like I was dying.  The only thing that kept me going was you and your tragic, confused face.

It’s safe to say you’re the best decision I’ve ever made, Violet.  You are my rock and my guard dog and my shweetie pie.  I love you so much.

Love,

Amy

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