We woke up on the morning of Saturday, September 29th with no intention of getting a dog.
Let me qualify that: since the tragic passing of my beloved dog, Emily, 4 years ago, I've woken up
every morning hoping to get a dog; a loyal companion who could fetch a tennis ball and share my bed, and nudge me with his little wet nose when he wanted to go for a walk. Unfortunately for me, there just never seemed to be a good time. We've either lived in a small apartment or a house without a yard. Add that to the fact that Celeste and I both work 12+ hours a day, and getting a dog just didn't make much sense.
Sense, shmense.
Okay, so the day
before Saturday, September 29th, I ran into one of my colleagues in the hallway at Zeb Vance Elementary School. Her name was Mary, and I knew that she worked a part-time job after school at PetSmart, just down the road from our house. Desperate for some non-awkward, casual chit-chat, I asked her if she was working that weekend. She said she was. I told her we might stop by to see and play with the puppies the local Humane Society is always trying to adopt away. Then we got to talking, and before I knew it, I was committed to a visit. Not to a dog, now. Just a visit.
The next morning, after cleaning the house and mowing the lawn, Celeste and I decided to go to the temple. I had forgotten all about Mary. Then, as we're walking out the door, it hit me.
"Shoot." I said.
"What?" asked Celeste.
"We gotta' go by PetSmart real quick. I told my colleague we'd stop by and say hello. It'll take 5 minutes."
So we went to PetSmart. Once inside, we instinctively followed the sound of barking and whining coming from the front corner of the store. Mary was nowhere in sight, so we kept on to the puppy pen. That's when we first saw him. The chocolate coat. The amber eyes. The inexplicable, cosmic connection.
It was Merlin.
While the other pups were pacing and jumping and barking like an undisciplined circus act, Merlin lay curled up in the corner of the pen, staring forlornly up at us with the pain of the world in his expression. While the other dogs pined for our attention, Celeste and I couldn't take our eyes off the pup with the caramel coat. I looked at Celeste, and she looked back at me. I could tell we were in trouble.
We picked him up and put him on our laps, just for fun. We walked him around the store and sat on a bench with him in our arms and cooed and cawed like a couple of rookie parents. He didn't bite or bark. He really didn't do anything. He just stared up at us and let us love him. I guess that's all he wanted. I guess that's all we needed.
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| Getting to know Merlin at PetSmart |
What surprised me the most is that Celeste was the one most resistant to leave the store without him. She talked about him like he was already part of the family. I think it's partly because we've wanted something like this for so long, and actually getting a taste for it - just tasting it - had a profound emotional effect on us both. In the end, Celeste wanted the dog. With tears of joy running down her cheeks, I happily obliged.
So now that you know the story of how Merlin came to be an Olsen, let me give you some quick facts about the little guy:
- He is terrified of everything.
Okay, I guess that about sums it up. Seriously though, Merlin is a sensitive, fragile soul. He's a rescue pup who was on "death row" before the Humane Society picked him up. We don't know the exact details of his first 7 months on earth, but they must have been painful. Unlike most puppies, Merlin doesn't like the outdoors. He doesn't like walks. He doesn't like to be around other people or other dogs. (I took him to the dog park the other day, and he just hid under the picnic table while all the dogs played around him). His favorite place in the house is in his crate. He's got a few "plumbing" issues, and even when he does take care of business outside, he's actually ashamed of himself. He puts his head down and sticks his tail between his legs. It makes me want to say: "Who did this to you, Merlin, and where can I find the rotten SOB?!"
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| When we brought Merlin home, his first order of business was to find the most distant, dark corner of the house. We found him in our bedroom closet... |
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| ...then we left him there. |
That said, li'l Merlin has made great strides in the 8 days that we've had him. He's on a pretty regular bathroom routine with minimal accidents. He's now cuddling and playing with us (inside the house), and has gotten into the habit of letting us rub his belly, whereas for the first few days with us, he adamantly protected it. He no longer walks around with his tail constantly stuck between his legs, and sometimes will even wag it when he sees us in the morning or after school.
Bottom line: Merlin is a special little guy who was deprived of love and a stable home. We're here to change all that and fill the hole in the poor pup's heart. And whether he knows it or not, he's here to fill a hole in ours.
