Dear Jamie,*
Today you are nine years old. In person years, you now qualify for AARP, twenty-five cent coffees at McDonalds, and 10% off Tuesdays at Ross Dress for Less.
At least, we think you are nine years old; you came to the shelter in October of 2004 and your intake form said you were three and half, so when we adopted you I picked a birthday for you. I have always thought you were older though, but maybe that is just because you are such an old, wise soul.
I started volunteering at the shelter where I met you as an atonement. Getting two dogs with my ex was my idea, and I was wracked with guilt that I couldn’t take them when we divorced. After months of volunteering eight hours a week, one day I came into the shelter for my shift, and there you were, needing rescue.
It is difficult to put words to what you have done for me. As I often say to you and to anyone who will listen, there is no love like dog love. You made Scott into a dog person. You brought me out of existential despair (many times) just by curling up next to me at night. You came to work with me every day for two years even though it was exhausting for you and the loud noises from the sign shop next door were terrifying. The vendors I worked with knew you by your bark over the phone. And speaking of the phone, it’s trivial, but you are a remarkably accurate form of caller ID. I trust that when the phone rings and I don’t hear you hooting, there is no need for me to answer. A hoot from you means that some one important is calling, whether it is my mom, another family member, or even a doctor’s office calling back with results. You always know.
You’ve been with me through three moves across two states and the District of Columbia, a couple of jobs, and some pretty bad haircuts. I don’t know what your life was like before we met. From what you’ve told me the only things I know are that there were a lot of loud noises, outside was scary, and men were not to be trusted. It has been such a joy to see you come out of your little dog shell over the past five years.
Sweetheart, Miss Jamie Lou, I hope you like your new collar and the treats and the bones, and all the extra lovin’ today. You are the dog love of my life. I am so grateful to have had the opportunity to rescue you, but I think you know as well as I do that you rescued me, too.
Love,
Lauren
Max and Jamie on the beach, September 2006.
Naptime, January 2005.
Sleepy wiener, March 2010.
*I’m a crazy dog person. I write letters to my dogs.
