This month I did a good deed. I saved a life.
OK. So there I bragged. I felt compelled to, because in a way I think it’s atonement for all those times I gave a sideways glance to my husband followed by a roll of the eyes whenever we’d meet someone, comment on their dog, and hear the words, “Oh he’s a rescue dog. I adopted him from the shelter.”
We’ve adopted shelter dogs before and some of our best dogs have been shelter dogs, but there’s something about that word “rescue” that seems to be a humblebrag. It’s a bit like shouting, “Oh you like my dog? I saved his life. He was going to be put down at the shelter but I saved him. I did it. Me. He’s alive because of me.”
At least that’s what I used to think … until I became one of those people.
Before, we adopted shelter dogs because they just happened to be the dogs we wanted. The difference happened when we adopted the dog that wanted us.
I walked into the shelter looking for a certain dog I had seen several times on their Facebook page. I absolutely knew that dog was for me—it was not too big that it couldn’t travel with us, but not so small that it was yappy and breakable—but I still hesitated a few days. Finally, I went to meet him.
At the shelter, knowing I would probably adopt him on the spot, I hesitated to ask for the dog I had come to see and simply asked to look at any adoptable dogs. An employee told me to just head on back on my own to browse the kennels.
Walking into a shelter is a sad thing. The dogs know where they are. Rather, maybe they don’t so much know where they are, as much as they know it’s a very bad place for them to be. And so, they do what they can to leave. Seeing as they can’t tunnel out, they do the next best thing: vaudeville acts. No, I am not lying. The dogs actually started juggling, dancing, and reciting Shakespeare the second I stepped foot into the kennel area. That’s desperation.
I peeked into the first kennel and two moppy, medium-sized dogs ran to the kennel door, stood side by side on their hind legs and began to hop alternately. One hopped up while the other came down. Then the second one hopped as the first one came down. It seemed very staged, and I couldn’t help thinking back to the time I danced in The Nutcracker ballet performing as one of the Chinese dancers, springing up and down alongside my partner.
The second kennel I peeked into sealed my fate. The tiniest dog sat in a bed in the far corner with a worried look on her face. I looked around her kennel to see if there was a second dog. You know, the real dog. Like she might just be the toy that entertains the actual dog that occupied the kennel.
There wasn’t another dog, but she read my pause as interest and pranced to the door on four tiny legs that had markings making her look like she was wearing white booties. There she stood up on her two hind legs and stuck a dainty little paw out of the hole in the gate. Yes it was a very “ahhh” kind of moment. I crouched down and touched her paw with my finger and did the baby talk thing that everyone does with dogs. She wagged her tail and began to talk.
Yes, she did a tiny little howl-whine thing that sounded like she was talking. Adorable again.
“I’d love to take you home but you’re a Chihuahua,” I told her in my baby talk voice, while also making sure I was being clear that the routine wouldn’t work on me. “And I’m not a Chihuahua person,” I added just so she would know our respective positions. I smiled and stood up to look around again. Someone in the adjacent kennel walked in and started the dogs there barking wildly.
The tiny dog, her name was Peanut, looked toward the barking, then toward me, sticking her paw out and frantically waving it at my leg, as if to say, “Hurry, break me outta here!” That moment broke my heart. I backed up and took another look. She stood there on two legs; her front paws holding the gate and looking like an inmate pleading with the bailiff. She would turn toward the barking and then back at me, and when she turned back to me she would do the howling, talking thing. The girl was giving the performance of a lifetime.
The shelter worker walked in at that moment and said, “She’s talking to you. You’re taking her home today.”
I explained that I didn’t want a Chihuahua and that she seemed a little small and fragile for a decidedly un-fragile family with three rugged boys and lots of their friends running around our house.
I looked at the other dogs trying to find the one I had come to see, but not before taking a quick video of Peanut. I knew someone would come adopt her right away if I posted that video of her on social media.
Someone did. My husband.
When I finally asked about the dog I had seen online, I was told he was adopted that morning. I was crushed. Back at work I sent the video of Peanut to my husband, who quickly replied, “Did you get her?” Surprised, I reminded him we were not Chihuahua people.
But when we both got home from work, she was still on his mind too. We got in the car trying to get to the shelter before it closed. Ron saw her for a few minutes and with few words headed to the desk and said, “I know you’re closing but can I pay for her now?”
That little Peanut definitely put on the show that saved her life. We were allowed to take her home right then, on what would’ve been her first overnight stay in the shelter instead of her foster home.
Later, we learned that she had been abandoned in an alley where a good Samaritan found her being abused by some children and took her to the shelter. She was barely three months old.
We christened her Penny Lane and because of her tiny size she travels with us wherever we go. Recently, we took her on a business trip. She stayed in the hotel with us, went shopping with us, hung out by the pool with us, and dined with us. Everywhere we went, little Penny Lane drew crowds, and when asked about her age and breed, we unabashedly told them, “Oh, she’s a rescue.”
Editor Shelly Cone is discovering that she may not have a running partner but there are a lot of positives to having a tiny dog. She can be reached at scone@santamariasun.com.
This article appears in Jun 9-16, 2016.