Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer · 4 Comments

Sensitive

2016-01-14_cactus

This morning I’ll take a pause on paws. No more writing about puppies, at least not for today.

The Archives, here, began with the intention of capturing ordinary moments and discovering something extra-ordinary within them. Typically, I have written from the present, recounting something as it has been unfolding, perhaps yesterday, or even now.

I consider this last week’s puppified posts, and realize that I’m telling the tale of events that unfolded last month. Meaningful moments that were not shared here in the Archives as they were happening. Why?

Though it may sound silly, the path to our puppy has been just too fresh. Too sensitive. The layers of emotion brought up within me, the thoughts that have swirled through my analytical mind, have all been too tender to type about.

I suspect the delicacy runs deep through old experience. Past posts have touched on the farewell to my dog twenty years ago. But I’ve yet to write about my early days of mothering my own human child, the one who now is twelve.

It was over a decade ago when the pregnancy test turned positive in a rainstorm. I watched the line fill pink, as the banana trees outside pooled in puddles. I stood in the make-shift screen room, attached to our school bus on blocks, the abode where I dwelled with my boyfriend. There was my voice speaking the stick’s result. There was the sound of the front door shutting behind him, as he left when I said, “I’m pregnant.”

There was the loneliness of my dream coming true being his greatest fear realized. There was the trying between us. There was the inevitable failure. There was me and a nine-month old, and little support. There were a string of house-sitting jobs, and the good graces of others. There was work for little pay, and a lot of mac and cheese.

There was the realization that my lifetime’s longing-motherhood-had come to be. And the reality of that dream was painfully difficult to live. I could handle the survival mode we existed in, but the self-doubt, the loneliness, and the accusations I hurled at myself, were the toughest to reconcile. Perfectionist that I was, my life situation appeared, not only imperfect, but a complete folly. The circumstances seemed to be the life of someone else, not the world in which I imagined myself.

But that was eleven years ago, and over time the tides have turned and mellowed. I live in a house and pay my own rent. I have a husband that is a loving, and supportive life partner. I have a healthy and compassionate son. I don’t know the last time I ate mac and cheese. And our family is fortunate enough to have the luxury of bringing a puppy into our lives. So why so touchy?

I sense there are themes of trust. Success and failure. Responsibility. Commitments made that must be kept, no matter what the challenge. My simple fear of doing it ‘wrong.’

It’s just a puppy, I know. But it’s sensitive.

Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer · 2 Comments

The Elusive Kismet Puppy

When our family agreed that we were ready for a dog, the search began. Admittedly, we did have a kismet puppy fantasy. The one where the dog would find us, leaving no doubt it was meant to be.

But on an small island with finite resources, whether it be groceries on the shelves, or puppies for adoption, we realized that waiting on fate may have us waiting a long time. Jeb was getting older, and my window of time to be at home with a young dog was at hand. Ideally, we wanted to have our pup by January or February. Knowing the search could take some time, we began looking in October.

We were clear that we wanted a family dog. One that was a lovable companion, great with children, low-to-medium energy, intelligent, and easy to train. It had been twenty years since I’d had a dog, and I wanted a breed that had some guarantee of ease. Labradors have been one of my favorites, and I hoped for a female to join me in balancing out the genders in our household.

Our local animal shelter was full of dogs, and it seemed an obvious place to start. We did want a puppy, with the chance for us to raise it from the beginning. Despite the many adults needing homes, we didn’t feel prepared to take on the unknown variables that may come with one that was full-grown.

So when we saw the Humane Society listing for an eight-week old, Labrador/Pit Bull mix, we were intrigued. He was male, but I was willing to bend on gender. He was part Pit Bull, which was a breed I was wary of. Very popular in the islands, Pit Bulls can be raised to be quite aggressive. But I had also learned that, historically, they were a breed known to be great with children and families. The shelter had named him “Kilo” (as in “Hurricane Kilo”, the tropical cyclone that had just passed by our island chain). Jeb, the Bohemian, and I, met him with the understanding that even if Jeb fell in love, if the Bohemian or I didn’t feel the same, we would not bring the puppy home.

Kilo was a little butter ball of energy, adorably soft, and you could scoop him up in two hands. But you couldn’t keep him there. He constantly wriggled away, and roamed the pen with excitement over everything but us. We patiently waited for him to take interest, letting him come to our laps of his own accord. But our bodies were merely drive-by’s, just a quick sniffing spot on the path to the next corner of the concrete pen. When he did occasionally pause with us, he mouthed heavily. Every time Jeb tried to engage him, there was a flurry of his hands, mid-air, in avoidance of Kilo’s needle-like teeth, and repeated “ow!’s” escaping Jeb’s mouth. When Kilo wasn’t going for Jeb’s fingers, he was tugging on his shoelaces. Yes, this was a real, live puppy, and he was a bit of a whirlwind. After twenty minutes in the pen with Kilo, I was exhausted, reconsidering if I was ready for a dog at all.

We had wanted to feel a connection. We wanted to give this puppy a home. But it seemed Kilo wasn’t interested in us. Something just didn’t feel right. We unanimously agreed, this was not our dog.

As we left the shelter, empty-handed, I could feel the judgement of the volunteers at the desk. They worked in a place that saw death, daily, and we appeared to be shoppers, unsatisfied with their selection.

All I knew, was that by taking a puppy, we were committing to over a decade of care to an animal that would become an integral part of our family. There had to be a good match. The shelter was full of animals whose owners hadn’t been that. I didn’t want to be another one. Besides, Kilo was so darn adorable, we knew he’d find his people soon.

Eventually, my casual searching seeped into the classifieds. Kauai would often have one or two online listing per week, usually small dogs, like Shitzu’s, or hunting dogs, like Pit Bulls. No Labradors to be found.

Nearby islands with larger populations meant more choices. Indeed, there were a few postings for Labrador puppies, but I was leery of some of the backyard breeders that seemed to be capitalizing on cuteness and earning cash. We never thought we’d pay money for a dog, but if we did, we certainly wanted the puppy to be the epitome of health, born into a responsible and loving environment.

Professional breeders (of which I found only two in the entire state of Hawaii), would guarantee the health of their puppies, and provide certified proof of clearance by the parents, of elbow, hip, and eye maladies. They also had waiting lists thirty people deep, making it look like our turn wouldn’t come until late summer, or maybe later.

Getting in the queue with a breeder seemed the opposite of our kismet puppy dream, and though the dogs seemed loved and very well-cared for, they still were part of a business plan. Yet, the professional breeder option seemed the closest to a guarantee we’d have in ensuring a healthy and sound dog for the years to come.

And then there was a fresh post on Craigslist.

Three puppies out of a litter of ten. One female left. Chocolate Labradors, ready for their forever homes in mid-December. Born of a sweet-natured mother, and sired by a Silver Labrador, whose owner worked in a military K-9 unit. The puppies had been raised up in a loving home with two young children. Lots of cuddling, plenty of home-life activity all around, and each had been given a clean bill of health from the vet.

We would be traveling in mid-December for 10 days, right up until New Year’s Eve. I sent an inquiry, via text message, to the contact number listed. Might they be willing to hold the female for us until our return?

The text reply was kind but clear from the puppy mom. I’ll call her Juno. With the holidays approaching and a houseful of puppies, their family was not equipped to hang on to any of them for longer. Besides, they were very selective about who adopted their puppies, and they wanted to be able to meet face-to-face before deciding on their homes (they were on Oahu, we were on Kauai). Juno affirmed that Labradors were simply wonderful dogs, and sincerely blessed our search with her final words, “I hope your next precious companion will be lined up to easily come into your life as soon as possible. Really.”

Funny, I almost cried.

2016-01-13_mae_paw

Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer

“Ohhh! So you want a dog. Okay. You didn’t say that before.”

“Well, I guess so. Was that not clear?”

“I just kept hearing about how much Jeb wanted a dog. I never heard you actually say that you wanted one.”

Did I?

Somehow the simple statement from my friend’s mouth made me feel both vulnerable and relieved. As if the secret I’d been keeping from my own self was at last revealed.

The parent of a wonderful canine companion herself, my friend was deep in the end-of-life stages with her dog. He was regal in his old age, but ailing. Throughout the conversation of “should we get a dog” over the past months, my friend had bluntly suggested, “Don’t do it.”

Now, on her back porch, her grey-haired dog curled not far from her feet, she looked across the table at me and said, “If you want a dog, then you definitely should get one.”

“Really? But you’ve been saying all of this time that I shouldn’t do it.”

“Right. But that was when I thought Jeb was the only one that wanted it. But if you want it, too, then you certainly should do it.”

As I’m recounting that afternoon conversation, I realize there is a certain absurdity in giving so much thought to a pet. To be concerning myself (and even writing about) the issue can seem petty and hyper-analytical.

When people in the world are without homes or clean water, the pet choice is a luxurious option to even consider.

But since I have the opportunity to actually have this choice, why think it to death? People around the world adopt puppies and dogs every day. It’s quite typical. If you were to ask my son, he’d tell you, “Everyone has a dog.”

So what’s with all the deliberation?

For one, any of this discussion needs to be held in the context of the fact that I tend to over think things. And part of what fuels my over thinking, are the memories of times when I didn’t think enough. Or so I tell myself. Meaning, that if I would have given more consideration to future outcomes, my choices may have been different. Basically, I don’t like disappointment, failure, or regret, and would like to avoid these feelings, if at all possible.

What I fail to realize as I’m over-analyzing something, is that disappointment, failure, and regret, are part of the messiness of life, which cannot always be avoided, and can oftentimes enrich this earth-walking experience we humans briefly have.

Twenty years ago, I was dedicated to facing fears and living from my intuition and heart. There were times when I got demolished in the process. Part of that era included me diving into loving my dog Ella. And part of that experience was me realizing the depth of commitment it took to care for a dog.

Now, at the age of 42, with a 12 year-old son begging me for a canine companion, I still want to live from my instincts and heart, but with some balanced reason.

I don’t want to be the person that oogles over a puppy, only to find myself with chewed up furniture and a hyper-active dog, running circles in a back yard full of poop piles. It seems too many people fall into the cuteness of a puppy, only to realize they don’t have the stamina to maintain the 10 – 15+ years needed to responsibly raise it.

That said, I also don’t want to avoid a potentially life-enriching experience out of fear, or painful memories from the past.

In fact, I’ve had a sense that maybe (just maybe), with twenty years of life experience behind me, a solid home life, and a supportive husband, I may have another chance at this dog thing. Maybe even a chance to do it a little differently. If I’m honest, maybe I’ve entertained the thought of having a dog, because it meant that I could redeem myself. Assuage my guilt for not having been perfect at it when I was 22.

Of course, that’s some heavy pressure to put on myself and any possible puppy. (Note to self).

But for that moment on the back porch with my friend and her aging dog, it was liberating to hear someone accept the plain truth. I did want to try again. Until the instant that she reflected those sentiments to me – “Oh, you want a dog…” – I had not been fully aware it was my heart’s desire. With my head-strong focus only outlining to Jeb all of the practical implications of a puppy, I could hide from my own feelings. Avoid my inner wish, out of fear that I would fail.

I know, I know. It’s just a dog. All of this soul-searching over a hound.

Well, that hound is Mae, and she turns 12 weeks old today. And, as with every morning that I’ve come to the computer to write in this last week she’s been with us, she is sleeping on a pillow at my feet. She is offering me, and our family, something that has yet to come into words.

We have a dog. And it feels simple, plain, and true. There is lots of love, and it feels very, very right.

2016-01-09_wet Mae
first time at the beach