By Cathi LaMarche
Scratch a dog and you'll find a permanent job.
~Franklin P. Jones
"We want a dog for Christmas." When spoken by my children, these words used to squelch my Christmas cheer faster than scorching the turkey with my mother-in-law, fork in hand, perched at the holiday table. As my daughter named her fantasy dog and my son pointed to his dog's future sleeping quarters at the foot of his bed, panic set in and I began a frenetic search for gifts that would trump any adorable, barking ball of fluff.
Each day before Christmas, I'd say, "I've been thinking. Instead of a dog, how about a... (insert the newest, coolest toy on the market)?" praying to change the children's minds before Christmas Eve. After all, no mother wants to witness her child's disappointment as the last gift under the tree happens to be flannel pajamas, cozy and fluffy, but lacking the excitement of a Golden Retriever.
I feared the dog would follow at my heels, begging for attention as the children played the new video game they had received from Santa instead of playing ball with the new pooch. My husband would offer no help and merely toss me the I-told-you-so look. Experts repeatedly warned about the dogs dumped into shelters after the novelty of the holiday wore off and the reality of dog ownership set in.
As a result of having read magazine articles on the dangers of dogs sickened by a poinsettia, an overindulgence of turkey, or tinsel from the Christmas tree, I vowed to my husband that any dog brought home in the month of December would have stuffing and glass eyes glued to its head. My downfall was failing to stay away from the local pet supply store where, during a meet and greet for the local Greyhound rescue group, we saw dogs dressed in Santa hats and reindeer antlers.
No, we don't need a dog, especially at Christmastime, I reminded myself as I tried to sneak past the table with the flyers outlining the number of retired racers that needed homes. The thin, lanky dogs looked majestic, yet pitiful with their protruding ribs. Their muscular legs and sleek build were a reminder of their extreme athleticism, a trait which allowed people to take advantage of their natural gifts.
My son Holden said, "Doggies!" and pointed toward the table.
"They're just big couch potatoes," the woman said, holding the leash attached to the red-brindled Greyhound. "They don't need much. Just someone willing to give them a second chance."
"Second chance" -- the words snagged my heart like a wayward fishing lure. Wasn't Christmas a time to give to those less fortunate? I'd have to be Scrooge not to offer a neglected dog a second chance. My hand slid down the dog's head and ran across her smooth, bony back. She didn't respond with a tail wag, a lick of my hand, or a rub against me. I looked into the dog's eyes for any emotion. It took time, the woman warned, for a retired racer to respond to a human's touch since the dog had never experienced loving hands.
The woman talked of the Greyhound's heart problem that prevented her from winning races, so she was no longer deemed worthy of continued care when not earning her keep. She cost the owners money -- not exactly good business.
The rescue group had spared the dog's life and would provide her foster care until adopted by someone willing to give the Greyhound a loving home. Would I be that someone, the woman's gaze asked? The foster family had taught the dog how to maneuver up and down stairs, to walk across the linoleum in the kitchen without being skittish, to avoid darting through glass doors when spotting a rabbit outside, and to adjust to everyday sounds such as the microwave and the television, so the dog would be ready for her new home. The Greyhound had a temporary name -- Eleanor -- a little more personable than the racing number tattooed in her ear.
As the woman continued to tell me of the rewards of owning a Greyhound, my mind wandered to my unfulfilled Christmas gift list, untrimmed tree, and pending holiday meal preparations. Perhaps she noticed I was drifting when she said, "Unfortunately, we can't save them all. These are the lucky ones."
I glanced at the Greyhound and at my son who now had his head buried in the nape of Eleanor's neck, gently stroking her. We'd give her the gift of a second chance and a permanent home for the holiday.
We had a quiet Christmas as our Greyhound adjusted to her new home and her new name. We turned down party invitations and cancelled out-of-town travel in favor of feeding, walking, and grooming our new family member. Since it was Christmas, and she was red, we thought the name Holly was fitting: Holly Berry on the days she was a good girl and Holly Peño on days she was a bit naughty. We remained patient as she settled into family life, and we eventually joined the rescue group to help raise awareness of the need for adoptions. Several foster dogs spent time in our home before finding their adoptive families. Holly donned reindeer antlers for the next seven Christmases, blessing us with her loyalty and love.
"Mom, I want a dog for Christmas," my daughter Piper said this past year.
This time, I didn't panic or attempt to sneak past an adoption table. Instead, I asked, "What kind of dog do you think we should adopt?"
We sat on her bed and looked through a dog book, carefully studying each breed's temperament and basic care requirements.
"A Pembroke Welsh Corgi," Piper said confidently.
I contacted the local Corgi rescue group and completed the adoption process in time to adopt Penny for the holiday. Although we spent Christmas day coaxing our frightened and trembling dog from the corners of the house with tasty treats and kind words, we couldn't imagine a more fulfilling Christmas than offering a second chance to a dog who needed a loving, permanent home -- a true gift for us all.
We are currently blessed with three dogs, so it will be a while before we can adopt another Christmas rescue. But that doesn't stop our family tradition of visiting the animal shelter bearing gifts of blankets, treats, and toys for the dogs. We are always a bit saddened that we can't take the dogs home with us. As we leave the shelter, our Christmas wish is for each dog to be given a second chance and a loving home for the holiday.
Scratch a dog and you'll find a permanent job.
~Franklin P. Jones
"We want a dog for Christmas." When spoken by my children, these words used to squelch my Christmas cheer faster than scorching the turkey with my mother-in-law, fork in hand, perched at the holiday table. As my daughter named her fantasy dog and my son pointed to his dog's future sleeping quarters at the foot of his bed, panic set in and I began a frenetic search for gifts that would trump any adorable, barking ball of fluff.
Each day before Christmas, I'd say, "I've been thinking. Instead of a dog, how about a... (insert the newest, coolest toy on the market)?" praying to change the children's minds before Christmas Eve. After all, no mother wants to witness her child's disappointment as the last gift under the tree happens to be flannel pajamas, cozy and fluffy, but lacking the excitement of a Golden Retriever.
I feared the dog would follow at my heels, begging for attention as the children played the new video game they had received from Santa instead of playing ball with the new pooch. My husband would offer no help and merely toss me the I-told-you-so look. Experts repeatedly warned about the dogs dumped into shelters after the novelty of the holiday wore off and the reality of dog ownership set in.
As a result of having read magazine articles on the dangers of dogs sickened by a poinsettia, an overindulgence of turkey, or tinsel from the Christmas tree, I vowed to my husband that any dog brought home in the month of December would have stuffing and glass eyes glued to its head. My downfall was failing to stay away from the local pet supply store where, during a meet and greet for the local Greyhound rescue group, we saw dogs dressed in Santa hats and reindeer antlers.
No, we don't need a dog, especially at Christmastime, I reminded myself as I tried to sneak past the table with the flyers outlining the number of retired racers that needed homes. The thin, lanky dogs looked majestic, yet pitiful with their protruding ribs. Their muscular legs and sleek build were a reminder of their extreme athleticism, a trait which allowed people to take advantage of their natural gifts.
My son Holden said, "Doggies!" and pointed toward the table.
"They're just big couch potatoes," the woman said, holding the leash attached to the red-brindled Greyhound. "They don't need much. Just someone willing to give them a second chance."
"Second chance" -- the words snagged my heart like a wayward fishing lure. Wasn't Christmas a time to give to those less fortunate? I'd have to be Scrooge not to offer a neglected dog a second chance. My hand slid down the dog's head and ran across her smooth, bony back. She didn't respond with a tail wag, a lick of my hand, or a rub against me. I looked into the dog's eyes for any emotion. It took time, the woman warned, for a retired racer to respond to a human's touch since the dog had never experienced loving hands.
The woman talked of the Greyhound's heart problem that prevented her from winning races, so she was no longer deemed worthy of continued care when not earning her keep. She cost the owners money -- not exactly good business.
The rescue group had spared the dog's life and would provide her foster care until adopted by someone willing to give the Greyhound a loving home. Would I be that someone, the woman's gaze asked? The foster family had taught the dog how to maneuver up and down stairs, to walk across the linoleum in the kitchen without being skittish, to avoid darting through glass doors when spotting a rabbit outside, and to adjust to everyday sounds such as the microwave and the television, so the dog would be ready for her new home. The Greyhound had a temporary name -- Eleanor -- a little more personable than the racing number tattooed in her ear.
As the woman continued to tell me of the rewards of owning a Greyhound, my mind wandered to my unfulfilled Christmas gift list, untrimmed tree, and pending holiday meal preparations. Perhaps she noticed I was drifting when she said, "Unfortunately, we can't save them all. These are the lucky ones."
I glanced at the Greyhound and at my son who now had his head buried in the nape of Eleanor's neck, gently stroking her. We'd give her the gift of a second chance and a permanent home for the holiday.
We had a quiet Christmas as our Greyhound adjusted to her new home and her new name. We turned down party invitations and cancelled out-of-town travel in favor of feeding, walking, and grooming our new family member. Since it was Christmas, and she was red, we thought the name Holly was fitting: Holly Berry on the days she was a good girl and Holly Peño on days she was a bit naughty. We remained patient as she settled into family life, and we eventually joined the rescue group to help raise awareness of the need for adoptions. Several foster dogs spent time in our home before finding their adoptive families. Holly donned reindeer antlers for the next seven Christmases, blessing us with her loyalty and love.
"Mom, I want a dog for Christmas," my daughter Piper said this past year.
This time, I didn't panic or attempt to sneak past an adoption table. Instead, I asked, "What kind of dog do you think we should adopt?"
We sat on her bed and looked through a dog book, carefully studying each breed's temperament and basic care requirements.
"A Pembroke Welsh Corgi," Piper said confidently.
I contacted the local Corgi rescue group and completed the adoption process in time to adopt Penny for the holiday. Although we spent Christmas day coaxing our frightened and trembling dog from the corners of the house with tasty treats and kind words, we couldn't imagine a more fulfilling Christmas than offering a second chance to a dog who needed a loving, permanent home -- a true gift for us all.
We are currently blessed with three dogs, so it will be a while before we can adopt another Christmas rescue. But that doesn't stop our family tradition of visiting the animal shelter bearing gifts of blankets, treats, and toys for the dogs. We are always a bit saddened that we can't take the dogs home with us. As we leave the shelter, our Christmas wish is for each dog to be given a second chance and a loving home for the holiday.
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