An Accidental Mom
(Or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love a Shelter Pup)
Our plans had all been very carefully mapped out. It was a lovely Saturday afternoon in brownstone Brooklyn and my guy, Tom, and I were going about the business of open-house viewing. After our last co-op appointment of the day, I suggested we make a brief stop nearby at the lovely home of our friends, Nidia and Robert. Surely they’d be the ones with the inside scoop on the neighbourhood, Prospect Park, and the properties in which we were interested. Unbeknownst to Tom, however, this was also my sneaky excuse to lavish kisses on their two Boston Terriers. I grew up with big dogs and had long nursed thoughts of adopting, but, to me, NYC apartment dwelling didn’t seem fair for any but the smallest of dogs. So when Robert suggested we all go check out the current tenants at Sean Casey Animal Rescue (SCAR) that afternoon, I didn’t think it would end in much more than an overdose of cuteness and a subway ride home empty-handed. I was half-right.
Robert had heard from several neighbours that there was a French Bulldog/Boston Terrier mix available at SCAR and was eager for us to meet this creature. A little too eager, even; I mean, I’d been talking a good game about pining for a pup but wasn’t looking to be nobody’s momma! When we arrived though, Sean tells us the Frenchie/Boston had just been adopted that morning, but another would be arriving in a few hours and he’d happily give me a call if I wanted to come back and check him/her out. What the heck, I thought, as I dropped my digits and headed back home with a rather-relieved Tom.
Bullet dodged. Except Sean did call as promised, to say that the dog had, indeed, arrived that evening and I’d have a courtesy period of 12 hours before he/she went public on their website and Facebook page. Still not quite sure what forces were moving me, I texted Robert and Nidia and asked if they would please go back down the road to SCAR and report with their findings. Quick as a flash, the photos started arriving. My favourite Boston fanatics were beside themselves: “Omg, you must get her. I mean, the pictures don’t even do her justice. Oh, and keep in mind,” they warned, “this one’s purebred and kinda SUPER CUTE, to boot. She will be gone in a day tops. You should totally get her. No pressure. (But get her).”
They might have saved themselves the energy—once I got a look at those floppy ears and squashed-up nose, I was done in. I sprinted back to SCAR the very next morning, met this gorgeous pup in person (so comfortable was she that as I took her in my arms for the first time I received a warm helping of poop all over my person). Who on earth could resist such charms? I filled out an application, was thankfully approved, and my little 9.5-pound princess accompanied me out of SCAR sporting her snazzy new collar, leash, chew-toys, and other niceties for her new life as Quincy Beatrix Uku. She spent the first few days with her Aunty Nidia and Uncle Robert, who were kind enough to offer her bed and board alongside canine cousins Otto and Ella. Like most Boston Terriers, Quincy is wicked smaht. She already responds to her name and basic commands (the essential sit-stay-paw) and is wont to perform hilarious dinnertime tricks, such as getting up on her hind legs and twirling around like a circus act. And because her seductive powers are just yea strong, Mr. Tom “Dogs are fine but I prefer cats” met my Quince-Paste and insisted we not tarry until our home purchase is completed but, rather, immediately bring her home. Why waste precious minutes better spent exploring Prospect Park?!
I feel truly lucky that Quincy barged her way into my formerly blah life. She’s a walking commercial for the furry love that awaits all who take a chance on a shelter pet. As a family, we’re SCARred for life!