He wanted nothing to do with us, that much was clear.
Barely ten pounds and blind in both eyes, the dachshund we had come to adopt wouldn’t even look our way. Not that he could actually see my husband and me, but the dog knew perfectly well that we were there. He also knew perfectly well that we were there to take him home, and he didn’t appear to relish the fact.
He spurned the dog treats we proffered and started spinning in a circle, head to tail. He looked like a little revolving donut. “Patches does that when he’s nervous,” said the representative from the dachshund rescue. “You do understand that he’s an anxious dog…?” My husband and I nodded. We’d been briefed during our adoption application process: Patches had been bred by people that abandoned him on the side of the road after he was born with eyes that looked funny and didn’t work right.
I didn’t fault Patches for avoiding us. Since being rescued, he had lived at three foster homes and was wary of new people. I wanted to pick him up in my arms and whisper in his ear, “We’ll love you and take care of you forever, please give us a chance.” But I didn’t know how to pick up a dog. I was afraid of twisting one of his tiny legs or bending his tail.
OK, before we go any further with this story, I’m aware that a question needs to be asked: As someone who had zero experience with dogs, why would I want to adopt a dachshund who was blind and spun in circles?
Was I crazy?
Sadly, no. I was 29 years old and consumed with worry after my husband and I had tried for a year to get pregnant, failing each time. After grappling with the reality that parenthood would not come easy for us, we found ourselves at a crossroads. We were investigating our options and weighing our choices, hovering in a lonesome gray area where our future looked indistinct.
The only thing I knew for sure is that I was desperate to be a mother. And if I couldn’t yet be a mother to a child, I would be a mother to a dog. A dog would be my substitute infant! My project!
The idea of Patches became my lifeline as I moved from sorrow to a sense of purpose. I researched dachshunds. I bought dog toys and dog treats and a dog bed in a durable yet handsome plaid fabric. I was ready to be a dog-mom.
Only, when my husband and I took Patches home on his adoption day, he was not ready to be our dog. He cowered and refused to eat. And then he started pooping.
It’s as if he became un-potty trained overnight. He pooped in our kitchen and in our bedroom. He pooped everywhere. And then he spun in circles through the poop so that his paws created an exquisite and foul-smelling pattern across our hardwood floors. He pooped for weeks. And weeks turned into months.
I didn’t yell at Patches (really, how can one yell at a special-needs dog?), but I was livid. One day I decided that I was ready to send him back to the dachshund rescue. The next day I admitted if I sent him back to the rescue I would again be a non-mother, with no one to take care of.
I was wholly out of my comfort zone with Patches, but giving up on him didn’t feel right.
Instead, I gave in. I stopped muttering profanities under my breath. I bought more cleaning supplies. Patches pooped, and I followed with my mop.
But something vital was at work. Patches started to eat. He no longer cowered. He chewed the pillows on our couch as if to say, “These are mine.” In our backyard, he stopped turning in circles and started chasing after squirrels, as well as a blind dog can do. I watched in delight as his windshield wiper-like tail flicked back and forth. He was happy. Even a newbie dog-mom like me could see that.
Soon after came a morning when Patches wriggled onto his back in the soft grass, his stubby legs sticking straight up in the air. It took me a second to realize that he wanted me to rub his stomach. I rubbed his stomach gently, and then, hearing what sounded like a blissful purr, I rubbed his stomach with vigor.
That moment in the grass proved to be pivotal for the two of us. It wasn’t about words or expectations or my needing a small creature to care for in my childlessness. My hands showed Patches that he could trust me, whatever losses he had suffered. And his softness on my hands made me realize that it was him that I needed right then, not a project.
And what happened next is this: we grew to love each other.
As every dog-mom knows, it’s not difficult to fall in love with a pup who quakes with joy when you come home after being gone for an hour, or even five minutes. He started doing this whenever I walked in the door, and I found myself elated.
Suddenly without disgusting floors to mop, I had free time to discover how much fun he could be. We played tug-of-war with his squeaky toys, and I spoiled him with treats and clandestine bits of bacon.
Along the way, my husband and I somehow started calling him Mookie, and it stuck. He responded to his new name, and my husband and I puffed up with pride, sensing that in this act of being named by us, Mookie was, finally, our own dog. He was ours, and, just as important, we were his.
I have been blessed with such love in my life, but my bond with Mookie was singular: it proved to be the most hard-won love of all. It went on to affect nearly all of the significant relationships I have with actual human beings, because Mookie taught me the value of abiding, of being present – to my friends, to my husband, and above all to my children – in whatever moment we find ourselves.
I have long believed in the power of words, but I learned from Mookie that sometimes words don’t matter. What does matter is being patient and constant, and not throwing in the towel (or mop, in my case) when things get muddled.
For eight years, Mookie was the heartbeat of our home. He ultimately helped give my husband and me the confidence to build our family as we went on to adopt our twin daughters from China in 2004 and our son from South Korea
Mookie certainly gave me a good head-start in my mothering. Having no shared language with my new babies, I remembered the importance of simply being present to them. Steady and unwavering, I was completely theirs. We spent hours together on the living room rug, loyal Mookie by our side. There was no agenda except to get to know and trust each other, which we accomplished through lots and lots of touch.
Funny enough, I found that my babies loved having their stomachs rubbed.
Lucky for all of us, I was already a pro.
RIP Mookie
September 2011
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