I grew up with a terrier poodle mutt mix,
Casey. We got her at our local Safeway
in Palos Verdes, California in 1974. She
was this black curly ball of fur and we loved her from the day Mom brought her
home. She lived for a very long time, 19
years, and she was a very good family dog to us. I never knew a life without a dog as my Dad
got a buff colored cocker spaniel soon after Casey was put down and me and, my
then boyfriend, adopted her for a year or so before my sister and, her then
husband, took Khaki in for a few years before her demise. Having a dog around was always normal for me
and it was also always something I wanted and longed for. However, living my life the way I was in my
20s and 30s, I could barely take care of myself most days, let alone another
living creature. All my houseplants died
within days of me bringing them home and I never lived in any one place too
long to grow roots or have any normalcy in my life. By the time I got sober, I had over 25
geographic’s.
In 2004, the year I got sober, I knew that I really
wanted to get a dog. I also knew that I
needed to wait a while as I was really just starting to get my own life in
order and trying to navigate a new existence without alcohol and drugs. So for a few years I was able to love on
close friends’ furry creatures to get me ready until I could rescue my own
pup. There were only a couple criteria
that were musts for me on getting a
dog. One, was that it had to be a rescue
dog, and the other one was that I wanted a real dog, a man’s dog. No small
yappy looking football of a poochie for me.
I wanted a dog of some real substance.
Even though I grew up with smaller dogs, I leaned towards the bigger dopey
floppy dogs of drool and girth. I
initially wanted a chocolate lab as a good friend of mine had one years ago and
I really fell in love with her. She was
darling and sweet, and sturdy and strong – great dog combo!
So in 2008 I found myself 4 years sober and ready
to embark on the possibility of getting my own dog. My lifestyle had me single, living in a 2 BR
ocean view apartment in Encinitas and working from home for a NYC based company. I really wasn’t even sure I would be able to
manage a dog full-time as I was doing a decent amount of weekend traveling and
usually after work I was running off to a meeting, our out to dinner or a yoga and
I was gone for hours at a time. What kind of a lifestyle would that be for a
dog? And also would I really be able to afford
this from a financial standpoint? My company had taken a hit with the economy
and I didn’t know how long I’d have with my current job as people were getting
laid off pretty regularly. A lot of unknowns were scurrying around in my
mind and I had some doubts. Here is
where God intervened for me, God won’t give you more than you can handle.
I decided to see if I could do a trial run of being
a dog owner; a test drive if you will. I
went online to inquire if I could dog sit for someone for a few weeks while
they were off backpacking through Europe or taking a summer hiatus in the
Hamptons, or doing whatever someone was doing who needed a complete stranger to
watch their dog for them. Within minutes
of being on Craig’s list, I found a gal who needed someone to do just
that. She needed someone to watch her
Boxer for her while she lived in Seattle for 6 weeks to finish a job training
program. I knew nothing about the Boxer breed and googled
it quickly to find them and, well - ok, although it wasn’t a chocolate lab, it
sure looked like a promising breed and their mugs were kinda cute and goofy. The dog owner needed someone to take in and care
for the dog, while she would supply all the food and pay a nominal fee. Sounded like a plan to me. The next day I met
said dog owner and floppy drooly dog when they came over to my apartment and
interviewed me. She also did this with 3
other applicants. There were other
applicants? I didn’t win the prize here? I felt a bit defeated and didn’t think she’d
pick me as I was up against a family with 2 kids and a yard, and another single
person who lived in a house, not an apartment.
Two days later she called to tell me I won the prize. I was so excited and actually felt quite
flattered. She told me that she felt a good vibe with me and liked that I lived
alone, worked out of my house, and lived close to dog beach. The dog’s name was Vegas (totally not a name that
I would ever choose for a 75 lb pure bred Boxer), and I didn’t question it. This dog was fully trained, very well
mannered and oh so lovable. I fell hard
for Vegas before the owner could even pull out of my driveway. Vegas was a sweetie pie of a dog and lavished
me with unconditional love - all day - every day. Our 6 weeks flew by and I soon learned to
love the Boxer breed. So much so that I
started looking into the local Boxer rescue organization in San Diego. Soon Vegas’ owner came back and I was so so sad
to see her go. I was hoping the owner
would just fall off the face of the earth and abandon the dog completely, but
then I realized she wasn’t an alcoholic and that normal people don’t do shit
like that.
Less than 2 weeks later, I went to the San Diego
boxer rescue in East County, and adopted Lucy.
Lucy’s name when I adopted her was Princess. Seriously? Who would name a
Boxer, Princess? I could see a small barky dog with that name, but not a sturdy
jovial dog like a Boxer. I named Lucy
after a Grateful Dead song and soon found out that Lucy was the 3rd most
popular female dog name in the country.
So much for being original. I was
Lucy’s third owner and it was evident someone had spent time training her. She could sit, stay, roll over and give me
her paw. They thought she was about 2 or
3 years old and they told me she was a pure bred Boxer. Nope, she is some mash up of a Boxer/American
Bulldog mix and none of that even mattered to me. Lucy has the sweetest
disposition and her face is just so gosh darn cute. I soon realized that she had rescued me and
not vice versa because up until that point in my life Lucy was the 2nd
best thing that had ever happened to me.
(Getting sober being the first of course). Here’s the thing, I was 41 yrs old and I knew
I wasn’t going to have any children, so Lucy became my child. Yup, I swore I’d never turn into one of those
“dog people” and I surely did. I saw the
movie, “Best in Show” right before I adopted Lucy and I couldn’t fathom how
anyone could get that bad. Oh yes, that
was me. My “Busy Bee” is “Pinky the
Pig”.
It’s been said that pet therapy is one of the best
anti-depressants out there. I am here to say hands down, Yes it is! Pet therapy is used in non-medical settings,
such as universities and community programs, to help people deal with anxiety
and stress and it’s fastly becoming a therapy for the elderly population, as
well as the mentally ill. So this is
where my depression story comes in and Lucy saves the day. Soon after I adopted Lucy, I went through my
first real sober life test, a break up. Gasp!
I had no coping tools to manage this kind of life event. I was devastated and wasn’t mentally or
emotionally equipped to handle this emotional disturbance. I won’t bore you with the sad sack details of
how many boxes of tissues I went through and how I lost 8 lbs in 3 days, but let’s
just say Lucy literally saved my life. I
had to keep coming back for her now; it wasn’t just about me anymore. I couldn’t leave her, I couldn’t abandon
her, and I couldn’t go out and get drunk or high and not be accountable to
Lucy. It was all about her. She needed to be fed, she needed to be
walked, she needed my love and within a few months I bounced back from that
break up a stronger and more stable sober person. I have God and Lucy to thank for that. I sometimes like to think that God and Lucy
are one in the same – it may sound a bit crazy to you, but to me it makes complete
sense.
"If there are no dogs in heaven, then when I die I want to go where they went."
- Will
Rogers
