The Dog with the Old Soul The Dog with the Old Soul TRUE STORIES OF THE LOVE, HOPE AND JOY THAT ANIMALS BRING TO OUR LIVES Jennifer Basye Sander CONTENTS Introduction The Dog with the Old Soul Finley Taylor Simon Says Katherine Traci Where the Need Is Greatest Tish Davidson Too Many Cats in the Kitchen Maryellen Burns Transforming U Suzanne Tomlinson A Nose for Love Dena Kouremetis Mother Knows Best Kathryn Canan Spotty’s Miracle Charles Kuhn The Nursery Robyn Boyer Frank Observations E. G. Fabricant Little Orange Trina Drotar The Old Barrel Racer Elaine Ambrose The Dog Who Wouldn’t Bark Meera Klein In Touch with One’s Felines Ed Goldman Kissing the Whale Pam Giarrizzo In the Nick of Time Sue Pearson Wednesday in the Wall Chris Fowler Hammer Morton Rumberg Quiet Vigil Sue Pearson A Life Measured in Dog Years Hal Bernton The Green Collar Sheryl J. Bize Boutte Growing Together Louise Crawford The Improbable Cat Lover Jennifer O’Neill-Pickering Psychic Cat Kathryn Canan Maggie Jerry and Donna White Roxanne Gordon M. Labuhn High Energy Mark Lukas About the Contributors INTRODUCTION “An animal anthology? Really? You?” new friends may ask upon hearing about this book project, looking around my well-ordered house, devoid of cat hair or a wet-dog smell. What gives? There are no bags of pet food in my garage. My newspaper is recycled promptly, never placed at the bottom of a birdcage. Older friends nod in understanding, though, since they knew the Airedale that lives on forever in my heart. Animals take up residence in our hearts, sometimes consuming all available space and leaving no room for another dog, cat, horse or bird to be added to the mix. I love dogs, but I haven’t had one myself in years. Just like some people have only one perfect love in their lives and, once it is over, don’t feel the need to replace it, my dog Big Guy spoiled me as an owner. I delight in having others’ pets around me, though, and I love to watch the affection and interaction between animals and people. We are devoted to our animals, and they can be just as devoted to us. A recent news item touched everyone who stumbled upon it—the story of a man in China who passed away, leaving only a yellow dog behind. The dog refused to leave his grave, lying atop it day after day. Villagers brought the dog food and water, and one resident told reporters that the sight of the grieving dog “made my heart smile and cry.” The stories in The Dog with the Old Soul will also make your heart both smile and cry. There are stories of joy—the thrill of a new puppy, the excitement of a young girl’s first horse show ribbon, the silliness of a room filled with cats. But life isn’t always joyful, and there are stories of the comforting role that animals can play in our emotional lives. There are times in life when reaching down to pet a familiar fuzzy head can help ground us in a way nothing else can. It is my hope that these stories touch you deeply, and that more than once while reading, you reach out and pull your pets in closer to you on the couch. Enjoy! Jennifer Basye Sander Jennifer Basye Sander The Dog with the Old Soul Finley Taylor Sometimes people—or in my case, a dog—come into your life at just the right time. Even before we were married, my husband and I talked about the dogs we would get someday. I wanted a Scottish terrier; he wanted a basset hound. Both of us liked both dogs, and neither of us minded which one we got first. We eventually decided that since bassets were known for being calm, low maintenance and child friendly—and since we were planning on having children soon—we’d get a basset first. Only problem was, for the first year and a half of our marriage we lived in a tiny apartment in Midtown. When we moved to a larger home in 2009, it was time to start thinking about getting a dog. Well, actually, it was time to start thinking about having those children. Getting a dog was something we might push off till after the first baby was born, we thought. But the months went by and the pregnancy tests kept turning up negative. The thought of including a different type of being, one with four legs, as part of our family never was far from our thoughts. As much as we talked about baby names and family vacations and how we would not give our eight-year-old a cell phone, we also talked about hiking trips and strolls along the river and what we’d name our dog. Three days after my twenty-seventh birthday, my husband sent me a seemingly innocuous photo from a local shelter’s website of a perky-looking tricolored basset hound with intelligent, old-soul eyes. Her name was Chloe. I work from home, so the squeal I let out fell on an otherwise silent house— a silence that over the months had developed a pitch of frustration, sadness and worry that became more palpable with each Facebook pregnancy announcement I saw. I called my husband and asked if he was game to go look at the pup with the world-heavy expression. That night we stood outside the kennel of a loudly barking Chloe, who seemed to be conveying her frustration at being cooped up for so long, and at life seemed to be conveying her frustration at being cooped up for so long, and at life for being a little rough on her as of late. I didn’t blame her. A kind but frazzled shelter employee told us this was the second time Chloe had been brought to the shelter. Chloe let out a characteristic basset bark that rumbled deep in my bones, rattling loose feelings of compassion and a desire to care for another living being —feelings I’d lately been walling off in an act of self-preservation. My husband and I looked at each other. “Let’s go home and sleep on it,” I said. When we told the front-desk clerk that we needed a night to ponder adopting Chloe, she said, “You know, a family adopted her and brought her back ten days later because she had a cut on her leg. A cut.” The disdain in her voice stung my ears. It appeared this pup would not be given away again without the blessing of some very strong gatekeepers. The next night we were back at the shelter, ready to adopt Chloe. My jangled thoughts and emotions zipped about my brain as if I were a kid in a bounce house. Are we ready for this? Can we be good enough guardians for her? Our lives are about to change. “She’s a very vocal dog,” said a frazzled employee, this one with a platinum blond ponytail, while opening the kennel. Chloe aoooffed nonstop out of impatience. A cage that had not been cleaned out recently and a pen in which a matted microfleece blanket lay on the cold concrete were evidence of what the staff had already told us: the new shelter was struggling to survive, even as it tried to house a growing number of animals. We were allowed to let this feverish canine out and to walk her, and she immediately put her nose to the ground with the loving familiarity of a mother tracing a finger over her child’s face. Within minutes, our hearts were completely won over by a panting, slobbering, smelly tank of infectiously lovable dog. “We’d like to adopt Chloe,” we announced at the front desk. “Adoptions ended a half hour ago,” said the front desk person, who was a different woman than the night before. Her name tag read “Staci.” Crushed, we went home, nonetheless determined to be there right when the shelter opened the next day. We arrived ten minutes before the shelter opened, and a coldness that didn’t come from the damp December air enveloped me when I saw about a half dozen other people in front of us in line. “Are they all here to adopt?” I whispered to my husband. “You don’t think someone here wants to adopt Chloe, do you?” My husband gave me a look. “Well, we’d better hightail it to the front desk as soon as possible,” he said.