A Man and his Dog...........

A Man and his Dog...........

I found Scooter at the Burbank Animal Shelter about 4 years ago.  I guess I was looking for a little something in my life that perhaps I was missing, so I found myself visiting the shelter every couple of weeks.

Anyway, on one of those visits I was walking the rows of cages and saw him there.  On the card it stated his name given to him by the shelter was "Oliver".  I immediately thought of Oliver Twist, the lonely orphaned child (which I played the lead in many years ago in my teens in the musical "Oliver")

I immediately stopped and made eye contact with him.  He was wearing the world's ugliest sweater at the time and it was obvious he wasn't too happy about it.  I mean C'mon, how would you feel if you were forced to wear something amongst your peers that was ALL wrong for your skin tone?  Please.......

I made a connection with him instantly.  He of course was very fearful of his environment and you can tell he couldn't quite understand this place he was in with all the steel cages.

I asked to see if I could see him and so the kennel representative made arrangements for me to take him to a designated little park area at the side of the shelter for such types of reasons.

Scooter definitely has his own little personality.  He is half Italian Greyhound and half Chihuahua by the shelter's definition.

I knew that this was the dog for me, so I inquired about adopting him.  The shelter told me that I had to wait until the day he became available, which was about a week away on a Saturday.  They told me it was sort of a lottery approach and that most smaller dogs get adopted quickly and that I basically just need to show up as soon as they opened on that day and hope for the best.

So I did just that.  I showed up 15 minutes before opening, and waited.  The minute they opened the doors, I immediately said I wanted to adopt the dog in that particular cage number.  As it turned out, there was a couple their with their young daughter who were interested in him also, as well as another small dog in another cage.

I was a little heartbroken.  How could I possibly be that selfish when a little girl could possibly want that dog?  So I put on my best Acting 101 skills and tried to hide my emotions.

I don't know. I guess no matter how hard you try, there are just certain vibes that you can't stop from being transmitted to those around you.  There must have been something in my face, or in my energy at that moment that the parents picked up on.  They just looked at me and smiled, and decided to move on to the other dog instead.  I swear I thought I was going to cry at that moment.

And no Olympic athlete could probably have run faster than me at that moment as I made a mad dash back to the front desk.

I started the adoption procedure and was able to pick Scooter up in a few days.  They told me that he needed shots, and that I could pick him up from the veterinarian that they were sending him to in a few days.

When I picked him up from the vet I was so happy, but a little sad at the same time.  Now that I saw my little Scoot without his ugly sweater on for the first time, he was so emaciated that I could see his little ribs.  For a split second, I had an instant flashback of what this poor little guy's life must have been like for him to end up so thin.  But it didn't seem to matter to him at that moment because when he came out of the vet's office, he was so happy to see me.  He remembered me!!  I picked him up and held him in my arms.  And this time there was no acting going on, I really did cry.

And the rest is history:  A history of a man with no children who now has a furry son.  A history of this little guy greeting me at the door (with his brother Rascal - that's another blog) so happy to see me EVERY time, no matter what.  A history of him, no matter where I'm at in the house, finding me and laying with me for a shared nap.  A history of chasing flies and squirrels, and EVERY MINUTE OF THE DAY (oy, vey....) wanting to play tug-o-war with some old blanket or piece of rope.  A history of letting me know no matter how stressful my professional life gets, I can still "go for a walk".

A history of teaching this 46-year old man that I am just but a speck in this universe, and that it's all about respect for all the other beings in this world of theirs and mine that we SHARE.

My little guy....................