Friday, December 23rd, The Mission: Visit Santa Claus. Time is running out. Daughter 2 wants to see Santa because how on earth would he know just what she wanted otherwise - and the stakes are high this year with her heart's desire being the Kanani doll, the Girl of the Year from American Girl. We had been to American Girl Place at the Grove just last week and the stock of Kanani items was shrinking. A desperate state of affairs.
Now, my preference was to visit old Santa at the Westside Pavillion - smaller lines, quicker trip (long to-do list with Christmas around the corner) and we could have lunch at Nordstrom's afterwards. But I could see the glitter and glamour of visiting Santa at
the Grove gleaming in my children's eyes. We wait for Dad to finish his business meeting then all take off mid-morning for the fancy outdoor mall. Upon arrival we are number 492 in line for Santa - over a three hour wait. Not happening. Disappointing, as this destination was far, far away from our home.
We did a quick run through at American Girl Place (the place was packed and watch out for those mommies and grandmas with the huge red bags - might run you down!). All items of Kanani had been completely sold out. Now the pressure for Santa to come through was really on. Daughter 1 buys a silly knitted hat the shape of a horse's head at a little vendor cart (she's horse obsessed). Then we take off.
New destination: Westside Pavillion and Santa Claus. We actually find a parking place not too far from an entrance and we are on our way. Santa's line is manageable (but slow moving). Success looks to be had. While waiting in line we take turns looking into the shops. On one return, Daughter 1 and Dad arrive with news that there is the cutest dog down on the first floor at the new
L.A. Love and Leashes Adoption Store. Groan. Now it's my turn to accompany said Daughter to the animal adoption center as the line is moving s.l.o.w.l.y. Double groan. About seeing the dog. I really don't want to.
I dutifully go downstairs to the L.A. Love and Leashes Adoption Center. Daughter 1 and Daughter 2 accompany me. The dog is a little mutt type. White. Grey spotted ears. Short legs. Curly tail. Kind of cute, but nothing to get too excited about. Daughter 1 is all excited and exclaiming how cute the dog is and how it came up to her. I read the posted paper about the dog. Name: Snowy. Age: Thirteen-years-old. Oh. My. God.
I turn to the girls. "Girls, this dog is thirteen. She's not going to live much longer. One or two years if we're
lucky. I don't want you to have to feel sad about another loss." They assure me that they know and they understand. While we are looking at the dog a man comes up to Daughter 1 and recognizes her from the barn where she rides; his daughter rides at the same barn. His wife runs the adoption center. Groan. A connection to bring us in deeper. I hustle the girls back up to Santa with the hope that that will be that. Visit Santa. Lunch a Nordstrom's. Back home to finish getting ready for Christmas. All neat and tidy.
Finally we get to see Santa. Daughter 1 decides that she'll sit with Santa, too, this year (even though we didn't expect her to - she
is thirteen); but she thinks it'll be fun to wear the horse hat in the photo and she's feeling silly and fun. Santa's lovely and the picture turns out darling. I'm ready for lunch!
Then my husband suggests we all go down to the adoption center. You. Have. Got. To. Be. Kidding. You may wonder why I am so leery about this whole scenario. You see, we just survived a
major fiasco with our last dog. After years of dealing with unwarranted doggy aggression and mental illness, I have absolutely no desire to get another dog any time soon if at all (and I've always been a dog lover.) Daughter 2 has been lobbying the past month for a dog for Christmas. No way. I keep telling the kids maybe in a year, but in my mind it's
actually,
maybe never.
So, back at the adoption center we look at the dog again. The other dad whose wife runs the operation encourages the girls to take the dog for a walk. I'm overwhelmed with mixed emotions. I feel bad for this dog - she's thirteen, who the hell is going to adopt her? She's a big medical bill waiting to happen. She does seem friendly and the girls can actually pet her. But I still feel tense and scared each time anyone goes to touch her. I really do not want a dog right now. And I'm hungry. I appeal to my family's hunger factor and we all go to lunch.
During lunch I'm trying to figure out what my husband's deal is with this dog. Is he really thinking we are getting this dog? What are the girls feelings? Does everyone understand this is an older dog and that we could experience her loss in the very near future? Daughter 1 seems to have a strong desire for and connection to this dog. Daughter 2 prefers to have a pug (there is not one there, just a lot of Chihuahua mixes), but really she loves all animals and would be happy with anything that is small enough that she could actually walk it herself.
I can't believe we are having this discussion. From a practical point of view, I am thinking, "No way." But I am also feeling here. And I am trying to understand. Because I know from our last experience that we feel we have a psychic debt because we took a life so that we feel we owe a life. If we got another dog, it was going to be a "rescue." I am also taking into account my oldest daughter's connection with this dog. It came up to her. She is the one who suffered the most from our last dog's aggression. I know that although logically she knows it is not her fault, that being a child she will still feel some responsibility for our other dog's death. Feelings aren't logical.
The girls go back to L.A. Love and Leashes while we pay the bill and I try to ferret out what the heck my husband's stance is on this one. It comes down to the fact that we both believe it is very unlikely that anyone will take on a dog this age and we feel we owe the universe a debt. But we are still not committed. We are hoping when we go down, that maybe someone else will have already miraculously adopted the dog.
Back at Love and Leashes. We cautiously pet the dog. My husband picks her up to make sure she is not aggressive. We try to find out her back story (surrendered by her owners a couple of days before to Los Angeles Department of Animal Services and the owners didn't speak very good English, that's all they know.) I am trying to figure out if she likes us and wants to go with us, but there is so much going on and the dog just seems to want to leave the mall, period. We notice her jumping up on an older lady and make the connection that her other owner may have possibly been a senior. I am hoping this lady will take her. She leaves.
I am filled with anxiety. My husband is afraid to commit. He's afraid of making a mistake again. So am I. We are worried about aggression rearing its ugly head. After confiding to the other dad about our experience, he assures us he will take the dog back if it doesn't work out. That sounds good. An escape plan.
Finally, I just say okay. I can't stand the thought of her not being adopted simply because she is old. She walks so nicely with the girls and seems to be handling the stress of the whole crazy atmosphere well. Even as I say, "yes", I am filled with anxiety and my heart feels tight. My husband conveniently disappears with the girls to take the dog for a walk outside while I fill out the paperwork.
While I am at the main table waiting to take care of business, one volunteer says the dog seems like a white German Shepherd and Corgie mix (I feel like waving my hands in the air and letting her know that the Shepherd part is not a good selling point for us.) Then another volunteer suggests that I get pet insurance because she just spent $2500 on medical bills for her dog (umm, are they really trying to get me to adopt this dog?) That's then topped off with "male" being written down for the dogs gender - big freak out moment as I definitely don't want a male dog, but it turns out to be an error.
Finally, all the proper papers are signed. A check is written (by me.) The bell is rung. And we are congratulated for being the new owners of Snowy.
My husband and I are shell-shocked. What on earth have we done? We are still on the first floor, so we stumble out the door to the outside. Since I'm better at navigating the car out of the parking garage because I know this mall better, I volunteer to get the car and pick them up outside (I am also going off the fact that my poor husband doesn't look like he can really emotionally maintain right now, so I better handle the heavy machinery.) I have to pay a five dollar fee since we were there waaaaay over the free three hours due to dithering over the dog. Nice.
I pick everyone up. Snowy jumps in eagerly. The dog loves car rides in direct proportion to our other one not . She seems happy. She has stinky dog breath coming from her enthusiastic wide-open mouth. Her tail is wagging. She's probably hoping we are taking her back to her owner. Poor thing.
She seems unsure when we arrive at our house. We feel unsure, too. All of us feel not quite safe petting her. Already, her acquisition has brought forth discussion on how scared we felt with our other dog and how we no longer trusted any dog. Wounded souls. We and this new dog. And so we step into our house and begin again...
To be continued...
