Have You Ever Owned A Dog?

There couldn’t have been a more straightforward question, particularly coming from the adoption desk at the Northeast Animal Shelter while you’re adopting a dog. As I was uttering my response, I knew I had misplaced my modifier, and the woman at the desk, Marianne, wasn’t going to understand. I tried to take them back, but the words had already spilled from my mouth.

Standing next to me, my sister Jeanne heard the words as they were floating through the air, and tried to grab them and give them back to me. No such luck.

Marianne heard my answer, and replied with the only reasonable response.

Tom with Maxwell, about 1989

Marianne: Have you ever owned a dog?
Me: My husband had a dog, but he died.
Marianne: Your husband or the dog?

Jeanne and I looked at each other, then looked at ashen-faced Marianne who realized what she had just asked, and all three of us laughed at the absurdity of the exchange. Then I told Marianne about my animal loving husband, Tom, feeling pretty assured we'd take our dog home after that.

No Dog Yet, You Say?

I started wanting a dog when Tom was sick. I'm sure the pain is the same whether your spouse has brain cancer, or heart disease or any terminal illness (Tom considered his cancer "terminal" with the quotes, having read much about long-term survivors. Few though they were, they were not non-existent.), but brain cancer had already robbed me of my hard-working, cuttingly-sarcastic, animal-loving, handyman-project-doing, car-guy husband, and my sense of loneliness was all the more acute because Tom was alive, but no longer, well, Tom. A dog would love me, and keep me warm, and fill the hole in my heart that I shouldn't have had because I should have just been grateful my husband was there, sleeping right next to me in the bed every night, drinking his coffee and reading his paper every morning. But that emptiness in my heart continued to grow, and my desolation darkened. And that dog? I really just wanted a dog to love me. I wanted somebody to love me. And for God's sake, at least the damned dog wouldn't die of brain cancer.

Then, Tom died. I don't know how else to explain it. Tom died, and the loneliness that I felt finally at least felt normal. My husband was dead, my sons' father was gone, and that the loneliness was expected made it somehow more tolerable. Getting from today to tomorrow became easier after Tom died, as I found myself already partway through the process of grieving his loss. The desperate yearning for a dog slowly subsided, replaced by the quiet belief that there's a place in our family for a dog.

So there we were today, at the Northeast Animal Shelter:  the place Tom took me on our second date; one of his memorial charities; and the place where the sweetest little  Belgian Schipperke x picked us for her forever family. She came with the utterly unacceptable name Skippette, so we're down to business picking out a name. I think her name is supposed to be Zoetje, dutch for "little sweet one". Any dutch speaking readers out there? Please advise.

And say hello to the newest Gentile, Zoetje.