I am what you call a dog’s girl. I am unabashed. While walking in the Mission, it’s “Can I please pet your dog?” While in the park, “Look at that little friend over there.” Or when at a lawn party, “Go ahead and put your muddy paws all over my muddy dress.” I am just that kind of girl. I love dogs. I let them lick my face and giggle as they squirmed up for more. I take walks that lead me down streets that I know have the best backyard dogs for me to lean over fences and shoot the breeze with. I notice dogs before I notice humans and sometimes frankly say, “I am here for you, cute dog!”
It had been awhile since I had had the opportunity to care for a dog friend and I had been lonely about it. After I got settled in from my cross-country move to be with my sweet beau, Dante, he started showing me pictures of dogs at adoption websites. Three or so hundred vetoed photos of dogs later, he pointed at a picture of a funny-eared, skittish looking Boston and Chihuahua mix. As with the rest, I took a quick look and said “not the one,” then went back to reading. But when Dante showed her to me again, I took the time to read her description. Willow was only 10 months old, had been fostered by a few people, and looked too skinny. Something about her ears and wild eyes made me go soft in the middle. “Let’s go see her,” I said. He smiled to hear the excitement in my voice and stroked the back of my hair like he does.
Dante and I walked up to the foster house hand-in hand, nervous and excited, trying not to get our hopes up. Willow came out to meet us on a tiny blue leash. She pressed herself against her foster mom and peered from behind one of her legs. She was much cuter in person. She had a brindle body and a black-and-white head with a tiny lightning bolt on the back of her neck. She was graceful and cautious. I walked her around the yard for a bit and she stayed on the very end of the leash, as far away from me as she could.
We spoke a silent language on that long driveway walk. We were both scared, we had both been hurt, we didn’t know if we could trust each other to show up. We had both lost beloved companions and weren’t sure we were ready to love again. After awhile I just let her sit at the end of the leash and look at me with a sideways gaze. And suddenly I was filled with a quiet knowledge and I just reached down and scooped her up into my arms. Her whole body tensed, then she put her little head on my shoulder and sighed the most profound sigh. That sigh relaxed her whole body into me and I started crying and smiling at the same time.
Dante gave the two of us one look and said, “Clearly we’ll take her.” He and the foster mom handled the paperwork while I reassured my new best friend “I will never let anyone hurt you again and I will take very good care of you.”
Willow immediately became Loretta Lynn. She acclimated to living with us so quickly that it kind of amazed me. She is a runner, a fetch player, and an extremely affectionate dog. In the months that she has been part of our family, the hole that losing my best friend left inside me has shrunk a lot. I am more active, more excited to face the day, and more in love with all of my life. Having Loretta to play with, to teach awesome tricks, and generally to love for being her funny and cute self has been more than healing.
Santo, Dante’s elderly Pomeranian, has slowly learned to regally tolerate Loretta. Recently they have even actually been found cuddling.
The love of a girl and her dog is something like magic. I cherish the connection of her nose with the back of my calves in the morning, her sweet patient eyes waiting for petting, the funny way she gallops around the house when it’s time for a walk, and her gentle pressing against me when I am having a challenging day. I feel ready for most things with Loretta in my life, maybe even a new friend in a new town.
No matter what, for me these days there is always Loretta, and she knows there is always me. Together, we aim to heal ourselves one game of fetch, one high five, and one “good girl” at a time.
Alysia Angel is a high femme, BBQ-ribs-eating, southern-bred writer, who wants nothing more than to pet your dog. She is published in Curve Magazine, Salacious Magazine, and is a 2011 Lambda Literary Fellow. Some of her work can be found here: alysiaangel.blogspot.com