terrified they’d refuse it, and instead they were both thrilled. They named the dog Miracle, she is now eight years old, and every chance they get, they tell me how much they love her. I was very lucky—it was just the right gift!! Looking back at some of the dogs I’ve given people, I don’t know where I got the courage to do it. But something told me it was just right. I haven’t done it often, but often enough to have potentially made some mistakes, but so far I haven’t. That’s a miracle in itself.
My next gift of a dog was equally brave, possibly even more so. A very, very dear friend, well into her eighties, had been struggling with cancer but was doing well. She was stable and seemed to have the situation in good control. She spent everyThanksgiving with us, and that year she said more than once at dinner how much she wanted a dog. She had been “sharing” a dog with a friend who let her dog stay with her, and she said she was ready for her own.
My kids responded immediately as soon as my friend went home. “Mom, you have to get Isabella a dog!” I countered their pleas with reason—my friend wasn’t young, she’d been sick, she had help but lived alone. And unlike my other friend, she didn’t have a husband to help her with the dog. It seemed like a bad idea to me. My kids, who were all pretty much adults by then, insisted I had to give Isabella a dog. By that night they had convinced me, and on Monday morning I began a search for a dog. I still had misgivings about it, but my children wanted it to be a family gift from all of us, to this beloved friend who was practically a member of the family and was the godmother of one of my children. I figured that maybe my kids were smarter than I. And by the week before Christmas, what seemed like the right puppy had turned up. A small four-month-old Maltese, all fluffy and white. She was adorable when I saw her, and by then I knew my kids were right. All of the children were home for Christmas, and I could just imagine all of us presenting Isabella with the dog. She was going to be ecstatic (I hoped), and I came home to tell the kids, so we could plan to deliver the dog to her together. Iran into one of the kids as soon as I got home and told her I’d found Isabella’s dog.
“Dog? What dog?” my daughter said, looking blank.
“You know, the dog you all wanted me to find for Isabella. I found her an adorable Maltese.”
“Are you insane?” my daughter asked me. “She’s too old for a dog, and she’s sick. Why would you get her a dog?” My daughter looked at me as if I’d lost my mind, and I wondered if I had.
“You guys told me to get a dog for her, remember, after Thanksgiving dinner …”
“We never told you that.” Had I imagined it? I went upstairs and found the others. It was unanimous. I was nuts. I had imagined it. And none of them would admit to thinking it was a brilliant idea a month before. (Kids are definitely more difficult than dogs.)
“Listen, guys, you told me to find her a dog. I did. You can deny it if you want. Now we have this dog, and I want you to come with me when we give it to her.” By then I was sounding desperate, but not nearly as panicked as I felt. I’d been had. My sense of romance and fantasy had run away with me, and I had followed up on a suggestion none of them wanted to remember or to participate in now.
“We can’t, we’re busy.” One of them had kickboxing, anotherhad a Pilates class. My son had a big date with his girlfriend. The girls had manicures and pedicures scheduled. Not one of them would face the music with me, and I was stuck with this dog, and by then I was sure that Isabella would think I was even crazier than they did. I felt like a total idiot. I even called the breeder and warned her I might have to bring it back. I was sure the kids were right, and Isabella wouldn’t want this dog. I went downstairs and had a long conversation with the dog, apologizing in advance for what I
My next gift of a dog was equally brave, possibly even more so. A very, very dear friend, well into her eighties, had been struggling with cancer but was doing well. She was stable and seemed to have the situation in good control. She spent everyThanksgiving with us, and that year she said more than once at dinner how much she wanted a dog. She had been “sharing” a dog with a friend who let her dog stay with her, and she said she was ready for her own.
My kids responded immediately as soon as my friend went home. “Mom, you have to get Isabella a dog!” I countered their pleas with reason—my friend wasn’t young, she’d been sick, she had help but lived alone. And unlike my other friend, she didn’t have a husband to help her with the dog. It seemed like a bad idea to me. My kids, who were all pretty much adults by then, insisted I had to give Isabella a dog. By that night they had convinced me, and on Monday morning I began a search for a dog. I still had misgivings about it, but my children wanted it to be a family gift from all of us, to this beloved friend who was practically a member of the family and was the godmother of one of my children. I figured that maybe my kids were smarter than I. And by the week before Christmas, what seemed like the right puppy had turned up. A small four-month-old Maltese, all fluffy and white. She was adorable when I saw her, and by then I knew my kids were right. All of the children were home for Christmas, and I could just imagine all of us presenting Isabella with the dog. She was going to be ecstatic (I hoped), and I came home to tell the kids, so we could plan to deliver the dog to her together. Iran into one of the kids as soon as I got home and told her I’d found Isabella’s dog.
“Dog? What dog?” my daughter said, looking blank.
“You know, the dog you all wanted me to find for Isabella. I found her an adorable Maltese.”
“Are you insane?” my daughter asked me. “She’s too old for a dog, and she’s sick. Why would you get her a dog?” My daughter looked at me as if I’d lost my mind, and I wondered if I had.
“You guys told me to get a dog for her, remember, after Thanksgiving dinner …”
“We never told you that.” Had I imagined it? I went upstairs and found the others. It was unanimous. I was nuts. I had imagined it. And none of them would admit to thinking it was a brilliant idea a month before. (Kids are definitely more difficult than dogs.)
“Listen, guys, you told me to find her a dog. I did. You can deny it if you want. Now we have this dog, and I want you to come with me when we give it to her.” By then I was sounding desperate, but not nearly as panicked as I felt. I’d been had. My sense of romance and fantasy had run away with me, and I had followed up on a suggestion none of them wanted to remember or to participate in now.
“We can’t, we’re busy.” One of them had kickboxing, anotherhad a Pilates class. My son had a big date with his girlfriend. The girls had manicures and pedicures scheduled. Not one of them would face the music with me, and I was stuck with this dog, and by then I was sure that Isabella would think I was even crazier than they did. I felt like a total idiot. I even called the breeder and warned her I might have to bring it back. I was sure the kids were right, and Isabella wouldn’t want this dog. I went downstairs and had a long conversation with the dog, apologizing in advance for what I
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