That Dog is not Damaged Goods | |
It had been months since Foxy died. Our family went through the holidays alone, without a dog to share Christmas with. Her absence was constantly on my mind. I missed her dearly. I looked to where her pillow should have been hundreds of times a day. Sometimes I even thought I caught a glimpse of her there. Sadly, she was gone.
I was hurting after the loss of my childhood pet, but I was not the only one. My parents were hurting as well. My father missed his "Ox," and had no one to run up and kiss him as he came through the door. My mother hurt deeply too. She was the one who was there when Foxy was put to sleep. She also got flack from me for her painful decision because I was hurting.
The experience was traumatic for us all. More so than we imagined it would be. Any other time a pet died, my parents ran out and got me a new one. This time they did not. Instead of having time to mourn Foxy's loss until the pain went away, the pain ended up increasing daily. Our whole family was depressed.
My father and I knew we needed another dog, but my mother could not take the pain that had consumed her. She did not want to think of owning another dog, because all dogs die. My father and I were unrelenting, and finally forced her to let us have another dog. She reluctantly agreed, and my father and I set out on our quest to find the perfect dog.
The perfect dog was no specific breed. The perfect dog was large enough to hug, tough enough to wrestle, and sweet enough to love. I called every vet, pound, and rescue shelter in the area and explained what I wanted. No one had just what I was looking for, until I called Maryanne. Maryanne ran an animal shelter that was almost an hour away from my home. I explained what I was looking for and she had just the right dog -- Frasier.
Maryanne wanted to make sure Frasier was the right dog for us. First we had to read about Frasier and see his picture on the Internet. He was a fine dog, a boxer and husky mix with crystal blue eyes. Next we got to meet him. We set up an appointment to meet Maryanne and Frasier in person. When that day came, it was a blizzard. It did not matter. We needed a dog, and Frasier sounded like a good one. We drove an hour in the blizzard to find out if Maryanne's instincts were right.
On the way there my dad expressed his concerns. All pound dogs were owned by someone before. They could have been beaten. They could be attack dogs, and the owners might have needed to get rid of them. He had lots of ideas of what a pound dog was, but it all boiled down to the fact that, in his words, they were damaged goods.
When we arrived at the pound, Maryanne and Frasier met us outside. Frasier played in the snow with a red tennis ball. He was gentle and let us take it from his mouth. However, he was a strong and athletic dog. He was the perfect size for hugging (something we truly misssed) and was grateful to receive so much love and attention. My father and I knew right away that Frasier was the right dog for us.
Maryanne must have known too. Frasier had been there for months, but no one had adopted him. Maryanne knew he was a special dog, and just needed the right family. She began the proceedings to adopt him herself. She did not need another dog, but Frasier was special and needed someone to love him until the right family came along. We came along just before Maryanne put the paperwork in to adopt Frasier.
However, adoptions are not that easy, and Maryanne had already grown to love Frasier. My father and I were thoroughly grilled. We passed all the tests with flying colors. She was particularly impressed that I had my vet's phone number memorized. Within an hour, Frasier was coming home in my father's truck to start his new life for us.
On the way home we stopped and bought Frasier some new doggie supplies. One of these was a pillow. We placed it right where Foxy's once was. Foxy's ghost went away that day. I stopped seeing her out of the corner of my eye, and I stopped feeling the loneliness and the void of not having a dog.
Frasier quickly made him self accustomed to his surroundings. He met my cat, searched my house, and finally met my mother. She didn't want him still. She didn't even want to know him. His name, to her, was "That Dog." She felt that she could never grow to love That Dog. And she feared that if she let herself love That Dog, it would only cause her pain in the end.
That Dog grew on her. Frasier's sweet and playful nature is enough to win anyone over. It took a while, but eventually I realized she loved That Dog. "What's not to love?" my mom finally asked me. Since that day, Frasier has been an integral part of my family.
Frasier has become our best friend and is truly the best dog there ever was. Frasier is eager to please us, and has learned such tricks as "roll over," "get the paper," and can play hide and seek. He provides comfort for us, and lets me hug him when I need to. Everyone in the house is much better for having let Frasier into his or her lives.
That Dog might have been someone's leftovers, but he was not damaged goods. Frasier is the greatest dog that ever was, and our lives have been enriched since we got him. Frasier is truly our best friend. It saddens me to know there are other Frasiers out there sitting in pounds today, just waiting to become the best dog a family could ever have. I’m just glad I found my Frasier. | 
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