Dog Day Afternoon

It's official, it's gonna be a Dog Day Afternoon. I’ve been holding my breath (no worries, not literally) for the past few days, anxiously waiting to see if our references checked out and we'd get the go ahead for canine adoption. I am being only mildly sarcastic; this was a much more rigorous process than you would think.

The house has been a little lonely without a dog, not to mention that I never realized what an excellent job Boola did at cleaning the crumbs off the kitchen floor. This family needed a new four-legged resident, and as a group we decided to forgo the breeder this time around and adopt a rescue dog. It seemed like the right thing to do. Even staring my empty nest in the face I am not the least bit tempted to raise another child (many assumed this was a possibility), but adopt a dog, that I can do. Jeffrey started the research; I narrowed the criteria (no Pit-bulls, no German Shepherds, no Rottweilers), he added his own restrictions (nothing that would fit in a pocketbook or could be picked up with one hand). That still left us thousands of dogs to choose from; really mind-boggling how many pets are living in shelters.

Our first stop was the Humane Society, very nice people but a limited selection of dogs (after applying the ruled out varieties). I did have my eye on one sweet pup, but he was visiting with another family and although I tried to mentally convince him through the playroom window that we would be a better choice, they had first dibs and I don’t do second fiddle. As it happens, they did let us spend a little time with my first crush and he was apparently shy with men and seemed to have attachment issues … neither one a good fit for us, so we moved on. The nice shelter lady took pity on me or was just tired of my questions and referred us to a private non-profit shelter closer to home. She even let us search their available pets and called ahead to make us an appointment (and potentially warn them about the needy mom and her teenage sons who tried in vain to mute her). Off we went to the fancy shelter, solely run by a philanthropic animal loving family, busily dog-viewing on my iPad in the car to select potential contenders. Like Match.com for pets, we read their profiles, their likes and dislikes, their personality quirks, and ruled them in or out. And then, like magic, I was smitten with the bio of Roberson, a Boxer/Mastiff mix, “Roberson is a big cuddlebug mush of a dog. He has a soft muzzle and big floppy ears. Roberson loves to go for long walks on our woodland trails.” Roby, you had me at Woof! Further investigation revealed that he was 3-years-old and had arrived here from the South, a mature southern gentlemen, be still my 49-year-old heart. Before the car was in park I knew this was my dog, now I just had to go through the motions and convince everyone else. Little did I know that I would have to be selected, as if any dog or shelter wouldn’t be thrilled that I had chosen them. Nevertheless, I put on my best compassionate face to establish my suitability as a prospective adoptive mom. Before a single dog could be introduced we were interviewed about our family (who lives home, how many hours do we work, what is our neighborhood like), our expectations for a new pet (did we expect him to play for hours or take long runs)  - I was getting nervous; what were the right answers? We’re a flexible family. We can change. After conditional approval we looked through the dossiers and selected potential candidates (Yes, I still knew it would be Roberson, but I didn’t want to show my hand just yet). Some were immediately dismissed as incompatible for our household (Fine, I didn’t want them anyway) and then the speed dating began. One at a time they came out to meet us, accompanied by more than one excited puddle of pee (they couldn’t help it, who wouldn’t be overwhelmed by the idea of coming home with us?) Coco was beautiful, but knocked me down at the first hug (David still regrets not capturing that moment for You Tube), Gypsy was sweet but a recent pregnancy had left her with some low hanging reminders of her nursing days and frankly, it felt a bit inappropriate, especially for the boys. And then came Roberson, my intended. Out he came, man’s best friend, not jumpy or nervous, confident and cuddly at the same time. He gravitated first to the boys, the staff lets us know that he relates better to men. I assured them that this was not an issue; I do too. He is playful and calm, no biting even with the four of us clamoring for his attention. He listens when David tells him to sit and lie down (apparently David has been hiding his dog whisperer skills) and we bond while the staff continues their secret evaluation of our family. We pass level one and get to take him outside for a walk. As soon as we are out the door Roby shows his man-swagger and lifts his leg to mark every tree in our path. It’s all good, I’m used to the Boola squat, but I like the macho peeing as long as my leg does not get mistaken for a low branch. Everyone is happy; we walk in rhythm on the leash, no aggressive pulling or veering off to explore. I have some long walks planned for my new companion; I needed to make sure that he was a suitable partner. Roby keeps a good pace, just right for me, with an attitude that says “don’t mess with me” but a face that tells a different story. I know immediately that he’ll keep me safe on any walk, day or night, and would gladly scare away the boogeyman if I were alone in the house. My choice has been confirmed, now we have to take him home.

Alas it was not that simple. Step three, references must be checked, and vets must be called. There is even the possibility of a home visit (do I have to cover the outlets again and lock up the cabinet under the sink?). I am not really worried, who would say anything that would make us unsuitable? There is a certain appreciation for the care in which this organization takes to make a proper placement and they could not have been sweeter or more assuring. This is a no kill shelter, meaning for every dog they place there is room for one more to be rescued. Their hearts are in the right place. They aren’t rushing to get the dogs out the door; they are making sure that they go through the right ones. A noble cause for sure.

Over the last few days we visited Roby one more time, even on Father’s Day the staff stayed late so we could enjoy another walk and some time outside. They called and chatted with both of my listed references and my veterinarian. They did a more thorough background check than most places of employment and all to make sure that Roby would be happy and cared for. As an added level of concern each adoptive family must agree to come back for 6 weeks of obedience and social training, provided free of charge by them. They also welcome their pets back for grooming and boarding, could it get more perfect than this? Last night at 9 pm I got the call on my cell (yes this staff works after hours) to let me know that Roby would love to come home with us, we had their blessing.

Like expectant parents we rushed out to buy a crate and other supplies and rearranged our work and social schedules to make sure that he wouldn’t be alone for the next few days. I am sure that there will be some sleepless nights and some accidents ahead but he’s not a newborn so it should pass sooner rather than later. I’m looking forward to our first walk together; I’ll let him lift his leg as often as he wants. A man has to do what a man has to do. David is ready to assume the role of daytime watchmen while he continues his search for post-collegiate employment (hint, hint …preferably NYC and in the media world, excellent resume and references). Andrew sadly left for the summer this morning before Roby came home, they will have to bond at a later date. Scott has virtually approved of our new family member and we will have a Facetime introduction later today.Jeffrey can’t wait for his man dog and will happily share the responsibility of listening for strange noises in the middle of the night that wake me up and need immediate attention. All in all, this whole process was both an educational and a feel-good experience. On a side note, if you remember from a previous post I had originally chosen another name for my next dog, and the shelter did give us the go ahead for a new name, but somehow it doesn’t seem right, so Roberson or Roby for short(pronounced Row-Bee) it is. And with a boy dog I’m back to being the lone lady of the house, but that usually works in my favor too. In 46 minutes I’m going to claim my man, let the Roby-tales begin…

Post Script: All joking aside, The Simon Foundation in Bloomfield, CT (thesimonfoundation.org) is an amazing place with a staff of caring professionals that are committed to finding good homes for good dogs (and cats). Check them out if you or anyone you know is looking for a new pet.