The Gnawing Bite of Anticipation

It felt like a militant act of self care. Like cutting your hair really short or tossing out jeans for their inability to adapt to change. But those things are common to me. This was bigger. I found the life-altering drug that Mister and I needed. There is a puppy. She has a name. But she was also five weeks old and 800 miles away.

After the decision, my friends sent daily photos and videos. Aching with anticipation, I made collages of her with wombats, baby bears, a fruit bat. Mister didn’t know about Jolene, the secret in plain view. And I couldn’t explain, so I had some solo waiting to do. That kind of anticipation that makes your teeth go soft. The blunt-edged need to be in another place but having to count the sleeps until. The limbo of aching wanting but not yet having. I wore a deep rut under my eyes from all the mental pacing. Mister slept through it.

Naturally, I shopped to distract myself. Baby things, a new bed, a dinner bowl. Maybe a few toys. Just this and that. More toys. Day after day. For the next month. Am I telling this story too slowly? I want you to suffer the anticipation with me.

Mister and I would make it a fantasy vacation. A different sort of “senior” trip, as wild as spring break at Daytona Beach. Jolene was in Texas, where I have lots of clients, but I didn’t want this to be a work trip. Please, no social obligations, no barn visits, and most of all, no horse talk. The trip had to be a secret so Jolene could be the only focus. I’ve never gotten a dog and not gone to work the next day. For all my impatience, I was hurrying to loiter. We’d camp and get to know each other on our friend’s farm and then lollygag our way home. The luxury of time, Mister and me on family leave.

You wouldn’t think a woman of a certain age, child-free by choice, would have strong opinions about parental leave, but I do. One of my first jobs was babysitting a young baby, full-time, all summer. When his mom got home from work, she would hug him hard enough to break ribs. One day, he crawled and when I told her, she burst into tears. It was the last milestone I mentioned.

Among 41 developed countries, only the U.S. lacks paid parental leave. Do we value children so little that we make parents return to work at a time of crucial brain development? Jolene is just a dog, and I am not nearly as smart as her mother. But brain science is brain science.

My friends wrote, “She met her new best friend string cheese this morning just before a surprise 2:30 am thunderstorm.” They got up in the middle of the night because it matters. Brain neurons are forming now. These youngest weeks lay the foundation for a confident adult. That string cheese incident was thrilling. And it should have been me. I’m kidding, of course. Jolene was too young to leave home. But I’m not kidding. Me.

I started getting ready, my shadow underfoot for each life-and-death errand. I hooked up the Rollin’ Rancho, my A-frame trailer, and we took it in to the shop for a tune-up. A week later, we picked it up. To the grocery store to stock up. To the pet store for Mister’s supplements. These quick trips did not satisfy him. Mister was still disconsolate, but now he was anxious, too.

I was leaking puppy joy all over my clothes. I squealed my secret to two local dogs friends. Every time I got new photos, they cooed and cheered. As I entered a restaurant to meet L. for a celebratory lunch, she stood up and called, “You’re having a baby!” waving a dog toy. We howled with joy, even if the other diners raised their eyebrows. C. did the daily countdown with me, because hysteria loves company. I was insufferable, bless their tolerance.

Meanwhile, I might need a crate. I have an old one that still has a note taped on top that says, “My name is Preacher. I’m a rescue dog on my way to my forever home.” Scrubbed clean with a new pad, but I hope he’s haunting it.

My friends asked for a piece of clothing to give the puppies… to come back with their smells and ease the transition. I wore a sweatshirt around the horses for two days. Mister napped on it, and I slept in it. Then we sent it off, a love letter to Jolene.

They said a temperament tester came for a few of the puppies. The pups spend the day outside in a large run with a baby agility course to climb on. She didn’t evaluate Jolene, but later met the whole litter. They said she loved Jolene the minute she laid eyes on her. I beamed for days.

I made myself tired. I understand the value of delayed gratification. Egads, I buy foals I won’t be able to ride for four years. That doesn’t mean I’m good at it. I used to say patience was an excuse for procrastination. Animals have been correcting me on that for as long as I can remember. Still, I watched her videos dozens of times. I wanted to know her before we met. If Mister said no, the deal would be off. For all my over-wrought hopes, he is my first concern.

Pack no work clothes. No horse gear. Double check the list. Buy ice. Puppy treats. Chews for Mister. Chews for Jolene. So many toys. Then haul loads to the trailer. Fill the entire truck bed with ex-pens and lawn furniture. Our traveling patio.

Finally, Mister must submit to necessary brushing. His quantity of dog hair in a small space is a health hazard. Then, Mister had a deep shampoo. He doesn’t like the wet part, but now he smells like a used car salesman. Which suits him perfectly.

Then we waited, all three of us, together separately. Jolene was almost nine weeks old.

I had an open week between sessions at The Barn School. My last class was Saturday afternoon, but who leaves so late in the day? Who could wait? Mister and I crossed the state line at dusk. My heart swelled for this good boy who traveled 26,000 miles with my hand on his head. Change starts by giving something up. The hardest part was done, but was Jolene the answer? Had I read Mister right? We jumped, but it was taking so long to land.

We drove the New Mexico back roads south. Silent land with big open mesas. My skin was a tight fit. I had all these live and dead dogs inside me, along with a few different species of ghosts and all the horses I remembered from my travels. I might split wide open, just that lucky. And now, the privilege to start again, brand new. My heart was panting louder than it was beating.

The second night, we camped about three hours from Jolene. I wanted to sprint the last miles, but it would be dark. Instead, we lay awake, the waiting almost done. We arrived mid-morning on the third day. Mister waited in the truck, but I know my limits. There is no world where I could park the trailer before meeting her. Jolene walked toward me and sat. We were both shy. So fragile in my arms, she poked me with her nose for the first time. It’s a Vallhund thing. Her puppy breath smelled like a spring rain after a dark, soulless winter.

By now, you can tell I’m going to drag this puppy tale out. Have you nothing better to do with your time? Yeah, me neither.

…

To be continued. Part 3 in a series. (Here’s Part 1, and Part 2)

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