One in a Million

I didn’t know it was possible to be so in love, to be so smitten — so besotted — with a dog.  But my affection for our little rescue mutt, Willie, grows by the day.  His attachment to me is clear – he thinks I’m a rock star — but while his instincts about me may be rooted in self-preservation (the big galoot with the eyeglasses is alpha dog; he will protect and feed me), what Willie gives me feels like love just the same.

Willie has become my shadow, trotting a few steps behind me in the house as I go about my day.  Wherever I am and whatever I’m doing is just fine with him – as long as he knows my whereabouts or can settle himself nearby.  And yet he’s not a pest,  never demanding or annoying.  Eye contact and a gentle touch on my leg with his paw tells me he needs to go outside; another kind of eye contact and a tail wag tells me he’d really like to sit on my lap; I’ve now become skilled at operating a computer keyboard while my forearms rest on a small, warm dog.  The ergonomic canine.

At just eleven pounds, Willie is a convenient size for travel and I’ve grown accustomed to bringing him with me on most errands.  Last week Richard and I had plans to join some friends for dinner at one of our favorite restaurants in New Paltz, but instead of leaving Willie alone at home in his crate for those hours away, I decided to zip him into his Sherpa carrier, sling him over my shoulder, and bring him along with us.  I push aside the fleeting thought about rules and health codes and head out the door.

The five of us took our seats at a table in a quiet upstairs corner of the restaurant.  There were no other guests in this dining room so,once we placed our orders and the coast was clear, I went out to the car and brought the dog bag into the building, placing it on the floor beside my chair.  Willie, perfectly silent as usual, settled himself for a snooze as we enjoyed a meal with our friends.  By dessert, emboldened by the camaraderie and the wine, I unzipped the bag, fished Willie out, and handed him to Ann, seated just to my left.

Ann, a retired veterinarian from Dallas, seemed as infatuated with Willie as I’d been; in time she handed him to Geri who then passed him to Tom.  By the time Willie made it back to Ann’s lap, he was limp as a noodle from all the petting and caressing, the lids of his liquid brown eyes fluttering with pleasure.

“Just look at him!” Ann said, laughing.  “He doesn’t know any of us but he’s so comfortable with everyone; that’s really unusual in a rescue dog.”

I explained that Willie and his three littermates were always well-cared for by their adoption coordinator and foster mom.  “They were never abused,” I said, and Willie’s needs were always met.”

“Well,” Ann said, rubbing Willie’s pink, freckled belly, “some of what we’re seeing here is inborn – just part of this animal’s make up.  But it’s also a testament to the woman who cared for him and did everything right.”  She looked up at me.  “This dog is one in a million.  You know that, don’t you?”

I squirmed with unearned pride at this endorsement – and not just from anyone but from a professional –a woman who has met thousands of dogs in the course of her career.  Like the parent of a healthy, engaging toddler, I glowed with pleasure thinking for a moment that my dog was just the smartest, the sweetest, the cutest, the best.

And he is.