My dog turned one this week, maybe

My dog turned one this week. Maybe. I don’t know. Nobody knows. The vet guessed her birthday to be Nov. 20, because they said she was three months old when she was brought to the shelter on Feb. 20.

If you know me, you know I adore Zooey. And, if you know me, you’ve probably wondered why.

You see, Zooey isn’t your typical 23-year-old guy’s puppy. She’s terrified of her own shadow. More than once she’s almost killed herself trying to run away from strangers who want to pet her.

She’s a special dog. She was brought into the shelter when an animal services officer found her alone, at three months of age, somewhere in a field in Hillsborough. She had been neglected. She was probably abused at some point, too. During a puppy’s key socialization and formative years, she was betrayed and left trying to survive on her own.

No, Zooey doesn’t trust quickly, and it’s obvious why. For whatever reason — it must be some sort of divine intervention — she trusted me quicker than anyone else in this world. The day I adopted her, I went to the shelter to browse. I knew I wanted a puppy at some point, but not that day. We took a lap around the kennel, and none of them really stuck out to me. We did see Zooey, though — she was called Miranda at the time — and my friend asked to see her. There were three of us, and the volunteer brought Zooey into the room. She didn’t move. Minutes passed, and she just sat there, looking petrified, trying to avoid eye contact. More minutes passed, and she slowly started inching herself across the floor. Soon enough, she had settled just in front of my feet. I scratched her behind her ears. She looked up at me, and for the first time I looked into her sad, soulful eyes. She didn’t look away. I knew at that moment I had to adopt this dog.

I adopted Zooey on March 7, 2013. It’s been an eventful nine months, to say the least. I knew how difficult raising this puppy would be the second night I had her.

She was so afraid when I brought her home that she literally didn’t move. She lied in the exact same spot on the exact same couch. Every so often, I would pick her up, carry her outside and place her in the grass, where sometimes she would use the bathroom. It was late at night, and I decided to take her out once more before I went to bed. I was carrying her back in and went to place her down. In the process, she heard a noise from outside, jumped out of my arms and immediately started yelping. She fractured her paw from the two-foot jump — nearly certainly because her bones were weak from months of malnourishment.

Off to the vet we went at 3 a.m. We got back home at 5:45. Her little paw was wrapped in a cast, and her head was stuck inside the dreaded plastic cone. She stayed like this for six weeks.

That was far from her last medical problem. Although she was too young for the procedure, the shelter spayed her anyways, per protocol. She had the surgery two days before I adopted her, and her suture became infected within the week. She had glaucoma in her eyes. She had a urinary tract infection. A couple months later, she started leaking urine whenever she lied down. She was incontinent from her premature surgery, and she’s on medicine for the rest of her life to fix it.

Still, medical problems or not, Zooey isn’t what you want in a dog. She’s not overly playful, and she won’t let a stranger pet her. Nobody else has been able to gain her trust half as quickly as I did. It takes at least 15 times of her seeing you before she learns to trust you. I’ve counted.

For this reason, she’s not a fan favorite. I’ve heard people say, “Zooey sucks,” or “Dude, your dog is so lame.” Countless times I’ve been asked, “What’s wrong with your dog?” If only I could begin to tell you.

Zooey does admittedly have her flaws. She’s claimed a couch in my apartment she rarely moves from. She gets so excited when she sees somebody she loves that she can’t control her bladder, and she leaves a trail of pee from her couch to the door. She wants to chase every truck that drives past, and she’ll chew apart anything in sight when she’s left alone. Heck, her ears are probably too big.

But, beneath her frightened, shy, flawed exterior lies the most beautiful soul I’ve ever met. Once she learns to trust you, she loves you to a fault. She’ll almost knock you down when she jumps to greet you. The faces of her trusted few are made for licking, and she’ll kiss you until her tongue runs dry. She doesn’t have a reason to trust anyone in this world, but she’s forever loyal to those who prove they can be loyal back.

Zooey’s not what I expected from my first puppy. She’s not what I wanted from my first puppy. I wanted a dog I could take to bars and the lake and my friends’ houses. What I got instead was better. I got a dog who loves unconditionally, who will trust me ‘til the end of time, who always knows just the right time to slap one of her trademarked kisses on me. There’s hardly a better feeling than when I look over at Zooey, and she’s already been looking back with those trusting, soulful eyes.

For one year Zooey has been on this Earth, and for one year the sweetest soul has been trapped within a fragile exterior — one that was shaped from cruel neglect.

Yet she is learning to trust every day. Zooey brings a dozen smiles to my face daily and can learn tricks on a dime, but maybe that’s the most remarkable thing she does. She’s been betrayed in the worst way and still finds a way to love those who love her back. There’s a lesson to be learned from that.

To you, my dog is a mess. To me, she is perfect. Happy birthday, maybe, Zooey.