It’s been a weird week of ups and downs. Monday sort of set the tone of the week: Jonn took a day off, and we went to the tulip festival where we encountered very few other tulip tourists at the gardens…probably because it was miserably cold, rainy, and windy. And as we sloshed through the muddy fields, I learned that the rubber on both of my rain boots had apparently cracked. Knowledge may be power, but it sure didn’t keep my feet dry. Still, the flowers were gorgeous and multitudinous, the company was my favorite, and we enjoyed a tasty warm lunch before heading home where I could finally peel off my sopping socks. Since then, I’ve heard great health news from one friend and am anxiously awaiting (hopefully wonderful) first baby news from another. But I’ve also found out that one of the employees I hired at my last job died. She was just shy of 30 and the obituary indicated only that it happened “unexpectedly.” She was warm, charismatic, and vibrant, and her interview with me went well over the planned time because she had such a wealth of experience to share, and I was an enthralled recipient.
Following the ebbs and flows of the week thus far, this morning’s “This Day” memories from Prime Photos crashed over me like a bittersweet tidal wave:
Exactly a decade ago, we had a trial period with a rescue dog named Nadia to see if our little family of three might become four. She was absolutely beautiful and had the sweetest temperament. I fell head over heels immediately. Dexter, on the other hand, did not.
He didn’t hate her. Their first meet-n-greet at a neutral park went well enough to lead to the in-home trial. When she first arrived at our house, we went straight to the backyard where they demonstrated a mutual fondness for play-wrestling. I have videos of them running and romping back and forth across the yard, as well as across the open main floor inside, those big panting doggo grins on their faces. Nadia was just a skosh taller than Dexter and would frequently start to get the upper hand but was willing and quick to flop on her back and show her belly when he seemed on the cusp of an “I don’t wanna play anymore!” alpha tantrum. She seemed as eager to be a fellow pooch-pleaser as she was a people-pleaser.
She was such a good, affectionate girl. She learned to use the doggy-door the very first day. I started with a little training like we’d done with Dex, luring her through with treats (and, of course, she had Dexter’s example to follow since he pushed his way in front of her every time to go in or out and earn a treat first). It worked well enough when I held up the flap, but she hated it touching her face. That evening when I let them out, I tried a little tough love. Dex came back in through the dog door as usual. She started to follow him, but once his last paw was through, the flap snapped back down, so she sat outside, waiting for me to open the sliding door or lift the flap. I didn’t. Instead, I sat inside, coaxing her. She cried for five heart-rending minutes, but then–lo and behold–it worked. She so desperately wanted to be with us that she overcame that dastardly flap for good.
She was such a trusting girl. She was unaccustomed to being kenneled at night and, after watching Dexter climb right into his, stood with apprehension and tucked tail outside of hers. I stroked her and praised her gently for a minute. Then I put my hand in the kennel and patted the cushion. That’s it. She looked at me with her soft eyes for a moment, went in, and curled up. She whined a little when I turned out the light and went upstairs, but Dexter’s grunt of a reply seemed to remind her that he was right next door, and it was OK (whether that’s the message he intended or not is open for debate).
The photos are of the sweet moments, the moments that filled me with perilous hope. But they don’t show trying to navigate a food-obsessed Nadia with a brand-newly food-aggressive Dexter. Nadia would’ve eaten herself sick given the opportunity and definitely was interested in Dex’s share of the kibble. We tried to separate them to eat, but Dexter, compelled instead to monitor her, wouldn’t eat while Nadia was and then would lash out if she came in the vague proximity of his bowl once she was done, even while still on her side of the barrier. The pictures don’t capture Dexter asserting his dominance and territory anew every morning. If I let her out of her kennel first, he snarled and gnashed and lunged at her from within his bedtime confines. If I let him out first, he tried to bully her into staying in hers. While he mellowed gradually throughout the day, come next morning, Dexter was again in her face, bristled and posturing; was tinkling on top of her #1s and 2s in the yard; was body blocking her movements. Finally, there are no snapshots to show how, every time Nadia and I or Nadia and Jonn moved to interact with each other, Dexter physically maneuvered himself between us. Nadia walks over for some petting? There’s Dexter wedging his torso underneath the giving hand. Nadia has some kisses to proffer? There’s Dexter’s muzzle, deploying his own tongue to push distance between her face and ours. We sit next to Nadia? What a funny coincidence! There’s Dexter, who was also planning all along to sit right there, wriggling his bottom in between.
I realize Dexter comes off as a big possessive jerk here, and frankly, he was. But that jerk was still our precious, stubborn, goofy, sweet, clever, handsome little man. And whether he couldn’t or wouldn’t, he wasn’t making the adjustment. As the people, our responsibility was to do right by him, which really, was doing the right thing for Nadia, too. If the goal had been solely to find a live-in playmate for Dexter, he might have grudgingly accepted her presence. But Nadia, Jonn, and I all dreamed of mutual snuggles and companionship, which unfortunately, seemed like more of a nightmare for Dex.
I wish the trial could’ve been longer. We were given two weeks with Elvira to really get a chance to be sure it was a good fit. But in our limited few days with Nadia, Dexter was at best tolerant, at worst domineering and territorial, and ultimately, just not our relaxed, happy boy. Maybe with a little more time… Maybe if Dexter had been a little younger… Maybe… I wish I could know for a fact that the rescue found her the adoring family and comfortable home and wonderful life she deserved.
My heart cracked open when Jonn called Nadia’s lovely foster-lady to arrange her return to the foster home. I sobbed and hugged her and kissed her and told her how good she was. So, so, so good. So sweet. So beautiful. She hadn’t done anything wrong, and I wanted so badly to be the forever home she deserved. I regret not going with Jonn to take Nadia back. I didn’t think I could handle letting her go when faced with the foster, and I think I was a little embarrassed about being a snotty mess in front of an almost-stranger. But I wish I’d sucked it up anyway so that I could’ve ridden in the back seat and just been with her for a little longer. Instead, I blubbered my goodbyes and wept as Jonn drove away with a little piece of my heart sitting shotgun next to him.
Submersed in these memories, I’m not so sure it always is “better to have loved and lost/ Than never to have loved at all” (Tennyson). Ten years later, my eyelids are puffy from crying and my nostrils are raw from sniffling. And I only got to pretend she might be ours for three days. Sometimes, it seems like it might be a lot easier to never have loved.
Nadia, wherever you are, you’re a good girl, and I hope you know that I love(d) you.
Adios Poochacho 