A dogs' tale

Things have a funny way of working out around here. Tomorrow we will be completing the final step in getting approved to adopt a new dog. We've applied, been interviewed, had our references checked, and visited a few prospective dogs. We just need to pass a home inspection and hopefully we will start to fill the empty space in our family.

I wasn't sure I was ready for this step yet but I'm moving forward because things just seem to be falling into place and it is kind of like some kind of divine intervention is under way. This isn't the first time I've had this kind of serendipity come into play when selecting a new dog after a tragedy.

Our first dog as a family was my first black lab, Sophie. We had been trying to get pregnant for almost 3 years when one of Steve's co-workers' dog had a litter of puppies. Both parents were purebred hunting labs but the litter was unplanned. (Don't get me started on the stupidity of these particular dog owners, I don't have the patience or space in this post.) In order to help me through my infertility depression and to give me something else to focus my mothering urges on we adopted Sophie right before Christmas 1992. On January 19, 1993 I found out that I was finally pregnant. Sophie taught me all about sleepless nights, crying jags, how to not barf when cleaning up shit and puke and many more valuable lessons in patience for a defenseless being that depends on you completely.

Fast forward to February 2000. Steve won a trip to the Cayman Islands for his company's President's Club. Sophie and the girls went to my parents' house in Michigan for the week while we enjoyed some much needed sun and fun. We called every day to check in with the girls except one day we were out all day and didn't have a chance to reach them. The next morning I opted to not join the other wives on an outing to the turtle farm and instead found a chair in the shade on the beach to enjoy some solitude and my book while the guys golfed. After getting comfortable and putting in a lunch order with the beach waitresses I noticed this large black, white and tan dog lounging under a tree. A family of four were trying to get her attention and coaxing her with food but she ignored them. I made a small attempt to get her attention by clicking my tongue and she came right over to me for an ear scratch. I commented to her big brown eyes that she reminded me of my Sophie. At this she made herself comfortable next to my chaise and stuck her large head under the table at my side. Sophie did the same thing every night next to our bed with the small round table where kept the alarm clock.

Finally that night we were able to reach home before going out for the big wrap up party. My parents were acting a little funny on the phone and were hesitating to put Sarah on the phone. Finally my Mom confessed that Sophie had been killed that morning. My dad had taken the dogs out at about 6 a.m. and being Michigan in February it was still dark. When Sophie didn't come back to the garage with Liddy, his dog, he went looking for her. He figured she was out eating "road apples" in the horse corral. Unfortunately he found her body lying next to the road. He doesn't even remember hearing a car pass in those early morning hours.

I was heartbroken. When we returned home the house was too quiet. When the girls spilled food on the floor, it went uneaten. I didn't have to vacuum dog hair as often. There wasn't anyone to put their head under my bedside table. I remembered back to that morning on the beach and realized that Sophie had come to say good-bye in some mystical way. We had been on that beach for 5 days in a row at the point. I always sat in the same general area (I avoid the sun). I had never seen that dog before or after that morning. She had gotten up and disappeared before anyone else from our group returned from their morning activities. She showed up there just for me and came and spent time with only me.

I started looking around on the web for pet loss grief resources. In my searching I came across a large, hairy tri-colored dog. It was the same kind of dog I met on that beach in Grand Cayman. It was a Bernese Mountain Dog. I read the description, did more Googling. This wasn't a breed that one would expect to find on a tropical beach let alone as a stray. Then it seemed every where I looked I saw Berners. Driving through downtown Geneva, Illinois I saw a woman walking two beautiful Berners. I picked up a dog magazine, the featured breed, Berners. I joined a yahoo email group for Berner owners and people interested in the breed. I shared my story and asked a lot of questions. I asked if there was anyone local who would let me and my family meet their dog so we could judge for ourselves if this was the breed for us.

We were warned that the process for getting a BMD puppy was long and arduous. We could expect to wait anywhere from 6 months to over a year before we were approved by a breeder and matched with the right pup from the right litter. I did get an invitation from a nice young lady that lived in a suburb not far from us and very near my sister's house to meet with her and her dog. After meeting her and exchanging many emails she finally confessed that her mother was a breeder in New Jersey. Not only that but she had an upcoming litter that may have available pups. Most of the prospective approved puppy buyers wanted males or females for showing. If the litter was predominantly female or the dogs turned out to not be acceptable show dogs there may be one available. Luck was on our side. Of the six pups three were female and two of those had white markings that were not acceptable to the breed standard. We interviewed with Ruth the breeder a number of times and evidently passed the test. Heidi has been a HUGE part of our family since Mother's Day 2000. It was like it was just meant to happen.

Fast forward again to this past month. The week after saying good-bye to Shadow I was going through my blog-rolls on Google Reader. Scoutie Girl/Jan had a post about having her dog Scout's leg amputated. The pictures of her gorgeous Scout stopped my breath. She had the same coloring as Heidi but was short haired, more like a Greater Swiss Mt. Dog, yet looked a little smaller than a Swissie and more hound/lab like. I almost couldn't get through the post because of my still raw emotions. But at the very end of the post she mentioned the breed, Catahoula Leopard Dog.

I had never heard of this breed before and typed it into the search box on my toolbar. One of the first links was to petfinder.org. There was a long list of Catahoulas available and then something weird popped up in front of my eyes. The IL Catahoula rescue was based in South Elgin, IL. I can spit and hit South Elgin from my backyard (okay, kind of like Sarah Palin can see Russia from hers, but still it is right next door!) I looked at some pictures and read some descriptions. I also started looking at other dogs and other breeds available in our area. The seed had been planted. But it was too soon.

Every couple of days something would bring me back to looking at petfinder just to "browse" and see if anyone caught my eye. I kept seeing all those Catahoulas. Then there was a young German Shepherd that I liked and Steve thought looked promising. So finally last week I decided to at least make some inquiries and maybe fill out some adoption applications. While I was doing that I noticed that there was a new litter of pups listed from Catahoula Rescue. I couldn't ignore the signs so I filled out an application with them too. On Saturday we went up to Huntley, Illinois to meet two Catahoula sisters and also to visit a shelter up there with the GSD. Then on Monday Emma and I drove all the way down to Manhattan, Illinois (3 hours round trip) to see the litter of 8 week old mix puppies. I've spent the last 48 hours trying to make a decision.

Tomorrow if everything goes as planned we should know if we get the dog I finally decided on. I'll let you know and hopefully have some pictures. I'm praying that fate has put the right dog in our lives once again.