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.
