March 19, 2006
"Ooh! I like Jonathan!" I squeal. "Matthew?"
"Matthew's good. Arthur?"
"Arthur's ok." I clutch his hand. I am so happy I could die. It seems unreal. I am happier than I have been in...well, ok a week ago in New Zealand, but before that it was a while since I had been so utterly content and thrilled. I am walking on Cloud 10 having bypassed Cloud 9 and taken the upgrade.
We walk into a bookshop, a piece of paper recording our favorite boys' names. "I like Gordon," Angus says thoughtfully. "Gordon is a nice name. As is Giles."
"Oh I love Giles," I reply. We are both looking at average, commonplace English names for a boy. None of this nouveau stuff for us, we like strong, solid traditional names. We take the escalator up to the baby section of a throbbing Oxford Street Waterstone's. We plop down in the pregnancy section and reach for books, our foreheads crumpled in thought. Angus looks amazingly happy, and I catch a sight of my face in a glass display-I am positively glowing. People come and go from the pregnancy section and watch us.
We make a list of the boys' names we like, giggling and exclaiming forgetting the quiet attitude that one is supposed to take when one is in a shrine devoted to the loving of books. Once we feel our eyes start to swim with too many names, we out the books away. As we stand I see a book on infertility and I reach for it, flipping it open to the IVF section. Angus smiles at me.
"If anyone sees you reading that book they're going to get really confused," Angus says, laughing.
I smile back, not at all weird about it, and smile back.
We leave the bookstore, a piece of paper in my pocket with a list of about 20 names. As we ride the train home we try to pare it down and come up with three names that we love terribly, and agree to think on it.
The reason we need the names?
We got a dog.
We got a dog!
On Friday Maggie and Mumin got loaded into their kennel full of malevolent spite. They love the kennel almost as much as they love riding in a car. From the second the door of the kennel swung shut the howling commenced, and it didn't stop until we reached the vets' office.
"Hi, I'm Maggie and Mumin's mom and we're here for their annual vaccinations?" I say to the vet tech as Angus carries the huge kennel, still marked with the airline tags that brought them to me a year and a half ago. The girls are due for their injections, and as such we are at the vets.
When we go into the exam room it's clear the personalities of my girls-Mumin is friendly and out of the cage like a rocket. She loves the vet! She loves the stethascope! She loves the table and the injections, she loves everyone! Maggie has to be dragged from the back of the kennel, where she lays completely flat and glaring at all of us, wishing us death.
As I give them our new address, the two injected cats in the kennel at our feet, I mention that we are looking for a dog and did they know of any in the area? The vet tech thinks and then writes down a name for us of another vet tech in a sister branch that runs the local rescue society. We take her number.
Saturday I ring her and ask if they have any rescue dogs, as we're going dog hunting that day with plans to go to the RSPCA in Battersea. She confirms that she just got in a 4 month old collie puppy who was raised with cats. She is desperate to find a home for the puppy, would we like to see?
We agree to stop by and say hello on our way to Battersea. We get in the car and drive to the vets', which is in our new neighborhood. Once there, she takes us to the kennels in the back. There in a kennel is a black and white border collie puppy. She is cute and sweet but our eyes are immediately drawn to another dog with her, a dog whose coloring is a mess and whose tail is wagging nervously, alternating between wagging and tucked under his legs.
The vet indicates the little black and white puppy as the one we're here to see, but we keep watching the other fellow. "What's the story with this one?" Angus asks, as the messy colored one licks his chin.
"He's reserved," she replies kindly.
We spend time with them both-they are incredibly thin and very shy. It turns out they belonged to a breeder who had gotten rid of all the other puppies but couldn't be bothered to deal with these two, so they were locked behind a couch in the lounge. They weren't pet, held, talked to, or loved (people make me so fucking angry sometimes). The RSPCA intervened and removed the two from the home due to the neglect and abuse they'd faced. They were with the nice vet tech at the local rescue society as the two responded so well to affection and kindness (and were so desperate for love and attention) that there was a chance with them.
There was a chance.
The mother of the two was a border collie cross and the father was a blue merle collie. We sat on the floor with them to give them as much opportunity to come near or run away, however they were most comfortable. The messy colored one protected the black and white one, an extremely shy and timid creature, and from time to time the messy colored one would crawl into my lap and sit there, revelling in being pet. The vet explains she can't keep them as she has two dogs of her own, but both dogs are sweet and gentle and get on fine with her two cats. This is, of course, a priority for us. Our two girls are so important to us that we have to ensure a new family member gets on well with them-I'm sure they're going to be furious at the introduction of another four-legged friend but furious we can accept; in danger we cannot.
The vet tech smiled at me. "I can call the family the messy colored one is reserved for. They have two other dogs, it's possible that they will agree to let this one go to a single dog home."
Angus and I exchange glances. "Would you?" I ask hopefully.
We exchange numbers and as we're driving to the train station to go to Battersea my phone rings.
The other family agreed to give up the messy colored chap.
The vet tech said she would be thrilled if we wanted him.
I shriek and scream and become totally uncontrolled. I accept and laugh and shriek and agree to come by Tuesday to pay her (the only costs she asked if we could cover were his vaccinations, which we think is absolutely and totally fair and we have no problem with that.)
We get him next Friday, the same day as we take over ownership of the house (Angus is pushing to give us a week before we get him but I really, really want him here and I want to introduce him to the girls as soon as possible).
We haven't decided what to call him yet, but the leading contenders are Nigel, Colin, and Gordon, and a shot in the dark name that we heard on the TV on Sunday and laughed out loud we thought it was so fitting: Gorbachev (because of his strangely spotted nose).
Your vote on the name is greatly appreciated.
Here's his little sister.
Here is our lovely perfect boy, the grey and white spotted one with the funny nose. He will never, ever have to spend his life locked behind a couch desperate for affection again.
God I'm happy. Like Hallmark Channel happy. Now that's happy.
-H.
PS-unless they are showing Touched By an Angel. I'm not that happy.
PPS-of course, I've never seen Touched By an Angel, maybe it's an ok show it's just the saccharine content of that show scares me.
PPPS-but I still won't watch it as one of those main characters looks like an alien from that 80's series V, and that's simply too much for me to take.
Posted by: Everydaystranger at
08:45 PM
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