Meet the Mutts: Part One

"I don't like dogs."  "What?" asked the shelter employee.  "Why don't you like dogs?" the employee inquired.  I answered, "I've never had one.  I don't think I would like all of the training."  She gently led me away from the cats and towards the dog area.  It sounded like a really bad Poison concert in that room.  There were squeals, squawks, and general chaos.  Hair.  Hair was everywhere.  "The information for each dog is on the tag hanging from the cage.  If you see a red dot, this means that particular dog doesn't have very long."  "Like, you are going to kill it?!?" I asked in disbelief.  I knew that is what happened at the kill shelter, but I didn't think they would be so forthcoming and blunt about it.  "Yes, like the dog will die, " she explained.  I thanked her, and she left to go do one of the many, many things I'm sure kept that place going each day.

I slowly walked down the aisle.  There were little sets of brown and black eyes starting at me.  Some tongues were lolled out to the side.  There were puppies sleeping in tiny little balls or packs.  I came to the end of the aisle, and there was a dirty little thing.  She was in the very back of her cage.  She shivered when I kneeled down to get a closer look at her.  I noticed a puddle form on the floor of her cage.  Poor thing had peed on herself.  I inspected her card.  She had a name!  Nola.  Why would someone turn in a dog with a name?  Then I really saw the last straw.  The red dot.  Oh, hell no.  I immediately found the nice shelter lady and told her I would be taking Nola with me.  She beamed at me, and she said, "Excellent choice!  Nola was dropped off by her family weeks ago.  The mom said that her young sons were constantly torturing the poor dog, and the dog would pee all over the house.  She surrendered her."  I blinked.  "You mean that two little sadistic boys tortured the dog so much she peed on things?"  "Sounds like it," the shelter worker said.

I couldn't believe that someone had done this.  I know I don't know this mother's story.  I hope there was more.  I hope she got her little soon-to-be Ted Bundys some help.  Yes, that is harsh.  No, I do not apologize.  Nola had already been spayed, so I could take her home that day.  Yay!  As soon as I slipped a leash on her dirty, little head, she peed.  I slowly walked her to my car and talked softly to her.  I kept saying, "Come on, my sweet Nola Jane.  It's ok."  She was my sweet Nola Jane from that second.  We got in the car, and she started to perk up.  She slowly made her way over to my lap.  Her head rested right on the window I had rolled down.  I started the car, and we were off to our new life together.

At the time, I was with a horribly abusive boyfriend.  When he started to show signs of being abusive to Nola Jane, that was it.  After a year of putting up with his shit, it took me seeing how he treated my beloved doggie to leave.  He tried to claim that Nola Jane was his.  I fought for her.  I took him to court and had it declared that she was mine.  All mine.  It was the first time I had fought him for anything.  And there would be no other time because I left him.  Finally.

Nola Jane had so many adventures with me.  We moved into my first place as a young, single gal all by myself.  We finished graduate school.  We rappelled off of a large boulder together.  We had long camping trips.  We got married.  We got divorced.  We found our Al.  The list could go on and on.  She was my constant companion.  My confidante.  My everything.  For never having a dog or even liking dogs that much, Nola Jane was my heart.  She knew all of my secrets.

I noticed a large purple splotch on her belly.  I screamed, "Al!!!  Something is wrong with Nola Jane."  We rushed to the emergency vet.  There was nothing they could do for her.  They sent us to a specialist in a town about 30 miles from us.  She had mast cell cancer.  She would die.  I lost it.  There was no way I could lose my precious baby.  She was the reason I had made most of the major decisions in my life.  She would always listen.  She would give me "the look" and I would know what decisions I had to make.  I looked at my sweet doggie that day, and she looked back at me as if to say, "It's ok, mom.  It's part of life."

We took her home, and we gave her the best six weeks of life we could.  Nola Jane lunched on filet mignon.  She took rides in the convertible, and we let her hair stick to every surface of that car.  She would get in a wagon, and I would pull her around the neighborhood because she was too weak to walk but wanted to enjoy the fresh air.

I woke up in the middle of the night, and she was shaking.  She looked at me.  It was time.  I called our friend who is a vet.  She came over.  We all gathered in the living room to tell my sweet baby goodbye.  Al and I held hands and sobbed as our friend put the needle in our Nola Jane's leg.  Nola Jane looked at me and sighed.  She put her head down.  She was gone.

My Nola Jane helped me March Fourth through so many major parts of my life.  I sit here today writing this and have tears streaming down my face.  My Nola Jane taught me how to love myself and others.  She taught me how to be adventurous.  She taught me that death is part of life, so just enjoy your time.  She taught me to love dogs.  I still think of her each day.  When Al and I got married, her little urn sat right there with us.  She is still my constant confidante.  My Nola Jane.

Nola Jane Goforth