For a person who may seem well-adjusted on the surface, I don't always cope with change very well, and this time in my life was no exception. I was moving-- the third time in three years since relocating to Northern Virginia. The man I thought was going to be my husband had no interest in coming with me. And looking at my professional future was the equivalent of staring into a loaded gun barrel.... and an unloaded bank account.
I was sad. I was angry. I was alone.
Honestly, at that point in my life, I felt truly disabled. Not in the sense that you might think of the word, but exactly as Merriam Webster defines it. "unfit, unhealthy, unsound, unwell..." completely without purpose.
My boyfriend didn't want me. I was a horrible roommate. My job considered me worthless, and I couldn't even find any work in the legal field.... despite applying for job after job after job.
I remember thinking to myself, "I need something to care for, so I won't feel so useless."
I told my parents that I was going to get a dog. Admittedly, looking back on the decision, it was pretty spur of the moment. I had no money, only a tiny space for us both, and bad experiences keeping even plants alive.
But I tuned out their objections, though multiple and mostly reasonable, and went to my first Adoption Day hosted by the NoVA SPCA at Weber's Pet Supermarket in Fairfax. I knew I wanted a small dog, and I knew I didn't have the time for a puppy, so I went into the experience completely unsure of what to expect. It was my late twenties though-- a time that I'd decided to make completely about me-- and I knew I was going to walk away with a dog.
The Adoption Day was held in late August in the store's back parking lot. and the dogs were unloaded individually from a van so the families present could meet each of them and decide who they wanted to get to know. I watched as the handfuls of children and older couples and younger couples made their choices, and trotted away happily with a new four-legged friend in tow to discuss the adoption process and complete the trial home-stay paperwork.
There I stood, facing the van in the center of the furry flurry, eyeing the single, untouched cage in the back.
"Hey, what about that little guy?" I asked the volunteer who was standing nearest me.
"Oh, that's Poncho. We have to get him out of the van last. He's not big on crowds, and he doesn't really like the bigger dogs either."
She went into the van, removed his cage, and set it at my feet. "Be nice, Poncho, " she whispered as she opened the door. He inched slowly from the cage.... his coat unlike anything I'd ever seen on a chihuahua... a beautiful mixture of tan and black and gray. He looked like he'd been eating nothing but table scraps... the really good stuff. A round and rolly 15 pounds, I had to wonder if his foster family had been feeding him foie gras in place of Purina.
Poncho was disinterested. In me. In all of these people. In this whole process. His head hung down as the volunteer meandered about the parking lot giving him a chance to relieve himself. His posture seemed to say, "I do not want to be here, and I do not care very much for this particular life."
Oddly enough, that posture and that air is what drew me faster to him. I knew just exactly how he felt (or at least I like to think so). We were both outliers who seemed to be watching the happiness around us from the outside, wanting to take part but not knowing exactly how to break through.
That first day, I just stood there.... letting him walk up to me and sniff my feet, bending down to offer a hand or finger for him to sniff. "Poncho's a hard sell, " she said. "You have to earn his trust."
I came back to the next Adoption Day, and then again to a third, each time seeing him open up a little more to me. By the third Saturday, I was the one strolling the lot with him while he marked his territory. That Saturday (the Saturday before Labor Day weekend) I decided to take Poncho home with me for a trial stay.
And home is where he has been since that Saturday. I knew it was meant to be from the first day, when I was picking out supplies from the store to bring home with us. I wanted to buy him a toy, but the SPCA rep said, "He only plays with frogs... he doesn't really like other things." Just like my dog son, I've collected frogs since elementary school.... and became even more interested in them as a college French major... when I learned that they were used (however derogatorily) to describe French people.
In the beginning, I adopted Poncho because I had a broken heart and thought I needed a dog.... but he has been so much more than just something I "thought I needed...". He has become my friend, my confidant, my dance partner, my bacon taste-tester, my psychologist, my in-house jester, my pillow, my protector, and my family.
Sure, we have had our ups and downs. I have chased him through the parking lot on Thanksgiving Day, cleaned his accidents from walls, carpets, clothing and so many other places where they just should not have been, and nursed him back to health and confidence after a bloody fight with a bigger dog.
This past Saturday someone tried to get into my front door. They opened it halfway, and Ponch shot outside, growling and barking wildly. I ran out after him, as fast as my bare feet could carry me., yelling, "Pooooooncccchhhhhhoooooo!" completely out of breath. I heard two screams, both human, and feet hitting the pavement. When I arrived at the door, he was sitting next to it, outside, waiting for me. He looked over as if to say, "Mama, there were some strange dudes out here, but I took care of it."
Sure enough, they were nowhere to be found. I told him to come back inside, clearly shaken up, and he jumped up on my leg as if to say, "It's all good. I'm right here. We're fine." We went back inside, and he stayed close to me the rest of the night, sensing that I wanted him there.
Some skeptics might say that I was selfish in adopting him... how dare I think I could take good care of a dog?? Who cares about what I need. It's about him. And they're right, Poncho's needs do matter.... they matter more to me than the needs of most people. But I say the skeptics' opinions don't matter. Poncho's opinion is the only one that matters. And if this past Saturday proves anything, it proves that I didn't just adopt Poncho. Poncho has adopted me.
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