Surrounded by dogs, she has no capacity to say no to even more.
Image Courtesy of Joseph Mackereth.
I am a professional dog trainer in Harrisonburg, Virginia. This is my retirement job and I adore it, more than any powerful position I’ve held. Of course, my idea of heaven has always been sitting in a riot of dogs and pups. To quote Will Rogers, “If there are no dogs in Heaven then when I die, I want to go where they went.”
Because I’m immersed in the world of dogs, I have a lot of friends who are just as irrational about dogs as I am. Totally bonkers, each and every one of us. I know trainers, trackers, rescuers, fosters, fundraisers, all completely smitten with everything dog. We know each other’s favorite breeds, dogs and weaknesses. We practically know each other’s vet bill balances.
Knowing these people, most all women, has made me a better person. These women have taught me to be more patient, more compassionate and more giving. They’re the best, angels in comfortable shoes. If you are a stray dog in the South, find yourself a woman in her 40s-60s. That’s who’s going to rescue you. Probabilities alone, based on foster/rescue volunteers’ gender and age, should point you right to the porch of a middle-aged woman.
I tell you all this to explain how I got “the call.” A friend of a friend was at a nearby animal shelter to do a behavioral assessment on a cranky dog. She overheard someone on the phone asking to rehome their French bulldog. She said, “I know just the person.” Within minutes she was ringing my phone with a photo of a dog and the message, “Want her?”
Do you have to ask? Of course, I want her! Now, I have owned and loved dogs in every shape and size, from a 224-pound English mastiff from my mom to a 10-pound poodle with 20 pounds of attitude. My favorite breed ever is the French bulldog. Why? Not because they have outstripped the ever-faithful Labrador retriever as America’s most popular dog breed. Nope, it’s because they are total clowns, and with a Frenchie in the house you laugh every single day. The way the world is tumbling along right now, laughter is more important to our wellbeing than ever.
I came home from work that day, a Sunday, and announced to my stoic, loving husband that the next day I was going to pick up our sixth dog. This man truly understands me because his response was, “Of course you are.” I simply do not deserve this man’s patience and kindness but am so grateful for it.
That’s how I came to pick up an adorable, clever, comedic girl in a café parking lot in Sperryville. She’s 23 pounds of enthusiasm and life-loving jauntiness wrapped in chocolate fur. Her new name is Tonks, after a character in Harry Potter, and she is amazing. Every day, I hear my husband Patrick laughing in his office because of something silly she’s done. She’s a joy. She’s our sixth dog. She’s clinical proof that I am insane. She’s our tiniest angel.
We are so outnumbered but I would still take six more. Help. Please send me common sense. I obviously need it.
The story above first appeared in our July / August 2023 issue.
