According to surveys of pet owners, people who buy pets from breeders tend to say they chose their pet based on research and specific criteria. They credit their own careful decision-making. People who rescue, however, tend to say that their pet chose them. They often credit fate for putting them together, or feel that their connection was simply "meant to be."
I know which category I fall into. I wasn't looking for a cat when a stray kitten moved into my life. She chose me, so I loved her for the rest of her life. And when my Beagle Porter showed up, catatonic and traumatized from abuse, I knew I had to take him in. He needed me. I would soon find out that I needed him, too.
When he so sadly passed away, I didn't surf the web for a new pet. I waited for a couple months, then put out the word that I needed a dog. In the great cityscape of life, I turned my taxi cab's light on: I was available.
After a few days, I got a Facebook message about a Beagle who'd bounced from shelter to shelter, named Abigail. I said I'd come get her. And that was how I found my shadow, my 19-pound soulmate. Though my time with Porter had been cut tragically short, his untimely passing suddenly seemed to make some sense. If I hadn't lost him, then I wouldn't have met Abigail, the fiercely loving little girl who adored me at first sight, and who seemed destined to be mine.
Abigail was my best friend and constant companion. Losing her four years later was devastating. Once again, I needed a dog. But as I surfed PetFinder.com, crying harder with every click, I felt paralyzed. I wanted all of the dogs, and my husband wanted none of them. How was I supposed to know which of them was my dog?
I was stuck in traffic one night when I mindlessly picked up my phone. I thumbed through Facebook for a second and landed on a brown dog. His family couldn't keep him anymore, so one of my friends was trying to find him a home.
"Okay, fine," I thought. I'd been hoping for another Beagle, but really, I just wanted a dog. Any dog. And that dog needed someone to love him. Who was I to get in the way? By the time the light turned green, I'd decided he could come live with me.
My husband gave in, and a few days later, the dog's owner dropped him off at our house. I accepted the leash and felt my heart sink. Abigail had been my babydoll, happy to be dressed in tiny pajamas and tucked into bed beside me. This dog was big, rough, and seemed to be made of solid muscle. He nearly pulled my arm out of its socket when I walked him, and he scaled our couch in a single bound. This wasn't my kind of dog at all. He slinked around our house, anxious and confused as a caged zoo animal, while I wept for my Abigail.
But we named him Ralphie, and we doted on him. Because that's how it works.
That was 10 months ago. Today, Ralphie is my dog.
He wakes up happy, usually sprawled across my husband and me in bed. Ralphie loves his morning walk as much as I do, so we shake off our sleep and head into the morning light. He's so strong and so eager to gallop, I sometimes feel like I could just hold on to his leash, pick up my feet, and sail through the air behind him. But instead, he pulls me breathlessly along the sidewalk, exploring our neighborhood, meeting dogs, and enjoying being outside together.
As the pandemic keeps me close to home, Ralphie has become my sweet shadow. He knows my routine, napping beside me till lunch, then sweetly interrupting me for his noon walk. He brings me toys, he body slams me when he can't decide whether he wants to play or snuggle, and he lives to please me. He makes up new ways to communicate with me every day. And he'll parade around my bedroom with a toy in his mouth for no other purpose than to make me laugh.
There's a famous quote: "Everyone thinks they have the best dog in the world. And none of them are wrong." I knew I'd fall in love with any dog I picked.
We had an empty dog bed and a hole in our hearts. We offered them both to her.
Abigail was a Beagle who needed a home. That was all we knew about her when we agreed to take her in. We drove to the shelter to pick her up and brought her home to our apartment, which was a mess of cardboard boxes. Everything was in a state of change. We were newly married, mid-move, and I was crying, constantly, over the sudden death of our previous dog. I was in pieces.
Abigail, the skinny little stray who'd bounced from one shelter to another, took it in stride. Within minutes of moving in, she crept up beside me, studied my face, and pressed her body against mine. I cried, again. She cuddled in closer.
* * * *
It's funny to think about that day now. What happened to that Beagle, so demure and compliant?
Billy, Abigail, and I moved into a new home together. Before we knew it, Abigail was running the household. She asserted her preferences and we learned her routines. She ruled with an iron paw — conveying her demands with impatient sighs, defiant yips, breathless and happy hops, frustrated barks, stern glares, or a loving and contented gaze.
Abigail had an intellect that was humanlike. She always knew when we were talking about her, even if we tried to do it in secret. She'd lift her head from her pillow and fix us with a narrow-eyed stare, letting us know that she hadn't been sleeping, but rather, listening in the entire time.
Her grasp of vocabulary would put the brightest toddler to shame. Abigail even knew what day of the week and what time it was, as she let us know every Wednesday (her least favorite day of our week) and every night at dinnertime, sharp.
We never bothered to teach her commands, as we understood that pet tricks were beneath her. We were lucky to have a roommate who chose to behave so well most of the time, and she knew it. Abigail respected us and expected the same consideration.
In return, Abigail gave us her whole heart.
She was my loyal shadow, and insisted that we touch at all times. Wherever I sat, she stayed pressed against me, and permitted herself to doze only lightly so she could get up and follow me to the kitchen or bathroom and back. She slept curled in my arms like a teddy bear at night and woke only when I did.
While any human relationship cools and normalizes over time, Abigail's adoration never faded. She'd wait, desperate and frantic, for my return each day. Then she'd throw herself at my feet, surrendering herself to our joyful reunion. Every single time.
Abigail hated cheap cheeses, bright lights, and women with ponytails and yoga mats. She loved kisses, sleeping in together on Sundays, and she was always proud to wear clothes. She refused to participate in a SnapChat, but was surprisingly fine with wearing a wig.
She was only 19 pounds, but her presence was enormous. She was part of every conversation we had. I spent my days holding her, petting her, doting on her, and basking in the joy it gave her to simply be loved. She would suffer for love — even enduring blinding sun on a hot deck rather than let me suntan without her.
When we passed another dog (or even a big truck) on the street, Abigail had to be restrained from defending us with her life. She would have died for me.
* * * *
I wish you could negotiate with death, for even one day. I would give anything to spend one more afternoon with her.
I miss her so much.
We only got to love Abigail for four years before her bad back lead to a fatal injury. Billy was out of town when I realized I had to let her go. Abigail, as brave and fierce with her love as ever, tried not to leave me. She fought the pain until her final breath. It was devastating to watch. But that was who she was.
I've finally stopped crying every day. But out of nowhere, I'll start missing her, and it will hit me all over again that she's never coming home. And it seems unfathomable. I wish I could have one more afternoon to lay with her. To smell her warm Beagle belly. To give her the one thing she lived for: loyal and unyielding love.
I found my cat Firefly when we were both just kittens kids: she a tiny, fuzzy stray and me a teenager in college. From that day on, she was my constant companion.
She moved everywhere with me, outlasting apartments, boyfriends, and jobs. She wasn't an aloof cat who kept to herself. This girl liked to be talked to, sung to, and cuddled all the time. She liked to be included.
By the time my husband and I bought our house, my little kitten was 16 and battling kidney disease and high blood pressure. She was slowing down. I let her have the run of the house, but I also set up a bedroom just for her. From the litterbox area in her closet, to the placemat with food and water in the opposite corner, to the comfy furniture and window access, I dedicated the room to her and her needs.
Over the next four years, Firefly left her room less and less. So I made sure to dedicate more and more time to visiting her there. I could tell that she loved Thursdays, the day I work from home and could give her at least eight hours to nap in my lap.
Then one day, with little warning, my Firefly's kidneys failed. I had to say goodbye. I spent her final nights sleeping with her in her room. Her vet came to our house. We sat on the floor of her bedroom, and my loyal friend passed away in my arms.
And suddenly, I had a cat room with no cat. Just walking past it and seeing her chair, empty, broke my heart. I sent my friend Madge a tearful video and a plea: help me transform this cat hospice into something new.
So that's what we did. We threw ourselves into designing a brand new office for me — in Firefly's honor.
First, I painted the walls the pale butterscotch color of her fur. As I moved furniture and climbed ladders, I thought about her and how lucky I was to have loved her. It was physically taxing and emotionally cathartic.
Meanwhile, Madge found a new rug that represented all the colors of Firefly's fur, plus her tiny pink nose and paw pads. (The pattern also makes me think of fangs or claws, which suits my feisty girl very well!)
Madge also encouraged me to declutter and organize, suggesting that I get rid of at least 50% of the stuff that was filling the small room. I scrubbed and painted the litterbox area and turned it into a space for books and storage, and grouped my crystal collection by color.
Then I added some special touches to remind me of Firefly, like a firefly-esque lamp, a furry pillow for her lounge chair, and a photo tribute wall.
Most importantly, I gave myself new views. I moved the lounge that Firefly and I spent hours and hours (not to mention her final nights) snuggling in. Now, it faces a completely different corner. I moved the desk we worked at together and bought a chair that feels brand new and doesn't remind me that my lap is conspicuously empty.
I still need a big piece of art on this empty wall — something that reminds me of the way my loyal companion made me feel. I'll know it when I see it. Until then, I'll keep working on filling this room with love.
This project turned out to be excellent medicine for grief. I got to spend time with Madge, sweat as I painted and rearranged, busy myself with shopping and planning and treat myself to something special and new.
Today, the room my cat died in is gone. But her spirit — so familiar and sweet — is alive in every detail.
I worked for an animal shelter, where I’d met thousands of
adoptable dogs. But this dog, Porter, was unlike every one of them.
He came along like an answer to a prayer. I was going through a
tough time, and nothing, not even medication, could rescue me from constant
sadness. I wanted to give up.
This sick, abused little dog looked even worse than I felt.
He was catatonic. He had given up.
So I took him home with me. Porter recovered from illness. I recovered from loneliness.
In particular, I found the strength to break away from a relationship that was
very, very bad for me.
With Porter by my side, I took long walks. I started a new hobby. I found dog-friendly restaurants and took him out to eat. All the while, Porter's clingy devotion to me was actually funny. He gazed at me like I was an angel.
But he was my angel. Somehow, having an adoring little dog helped bring me back to life.
I got better. I was free. And just in
time. Because just months after Porter came along, I met my husband, and I was
ready for him. I was no longer a broken, shell of a person. I was happy,
excited, and ready to start a new life. I shed my baggage, and Porter, Billy,
and I became a family.
It was the best thing that ever happened to me.
...
Porter left us too soon, in an accident so awful, it sometimes
overshadows my memories of our time together. But that little dog and I had an
otherworldly bond, and we still do. Sometimes I get an overwhelming feeling
that he’s not so far away.
No matter how badly it hurts to think of Porter now, I’ll
always be grateful for the gift he gave me. I only knew him for 2 years, but
when he healed me, he gave me a whole new life.
There's a concept in behavioral therapy known as the extinction
burst:
When you're trying to remove a behavior, whether it's a toddler's tantrums, or, let's say, xenophobia or misogyny, often you will actually see an
increase in that behavior before it dies.
This morning, reflecting on the concept of the extinction burst has brought my only flicker of hope.
We have witnessed the most vile side of American behavior. Voters screaming "Hang the n*gger. Men shouting "Grab her by the p*ssy" as though it's a slogan for empowerment. A female presidential candidate being subjected to double standards I once would have considered laughable. But something else is happening. People -- vulnerable people -- are talking about this. We are finding support among each other. We are emboldened by each other.
You may see this as a far stretch, but I have seen the extinction burst in action. When Michael Vick was busted for hanging, drowning, electrocuting, and shooting dogs, I worked for an animal welfare organization.
We'd spent decades trying to, among other things, bust dog fighting
rings and educate the public about pit bulls. It took Michael Vick to
get the media on our side. Immediately after his ugly deeds came to light, the
news, and the public, turned to us with questions and sympathy for these
dogs. TV, radio, newspapers and magazines turned to us. We finally got to speak for misunderstood dogs, and in their spotlight, the dogs positively shined. There were animal abusers, yes, but there were also people who came forward to heal and love the victims.
Our humane officer, who had seen the most violent side of dog
fighting, suggested that Vick, a criminal and a bully, might have been the best
thing to happen to pit bulls.
Let this horrible election empower
vulnerable people the same way. Let's have important conversations now.
Let us find our voices the way the bullies have. Let's be brave enough to stop hate in its tracks. Voting was not enough. Let us stand up for ourselves and each other.
It is my greatest hope today. From the bottom of my heart, thank you Amanda in Hawaii for the wise Facebook post that inspired this post. You were my bright spot in a dismal morning.
New Beagle snuggles while Angel Beagle watches from above
Meet Abigail ... a dainty Beagle with a huge weight on her shoulders.
Abigail must have loved someone once. Someone trained her and took care of her for a long time. But somehow, she ended up stray -- lost and loose in West Virginia. Someone found her and took her to a shelter, where she waited in a cage until her time was up. Luckily for her (and us), the shelter thought she was special enough to save. They contacted Animal Friends, who agreed to give her another chance.
Meanwhile, back in Pittsburgh, my husband and I were grieving. We still are. We'd had the most perfect dog: Porter, a loving Beagle who rescued me from a period of deep despair. Porter was my angel and constant companion. But we lost him in a tragic accident.
The despair returned. It crushed me.
We knew it would take a long time to mend our broken hearts. But in the mean time, we knew that another dog needed us. We had room in our hearts and our home, so we knew we had to save another homeless pet ... as soon as the time was right.
Eight long weeks later, I decided to put a little prayer out there:
Please let our next dog find us.
Before too long, an answer came. Eve at Animal Friends sent me a message to let me know that she'd found our dog. Billy and I went to Animal Friends to meet her -- Abigail. As soon as Billy knelt down in front of her, he knew he wanted to give her a home.
So now Abigail, a sweet, shrimpy little thing, has the huge task of helping a heartbroken family heal.
She's doing a pretty good job.
Abigail is loving. She wants to be held or cuddled 100% of the time. She found the right family, as we like to dote on our dogs (and each other).
She makes us laugh. She often seems concerned or confused, but she's learning to relax and take great pleasure in our daily routine. She loves going for walks, but she also loves coming home. She'll press her head into me until I give in and fold her into my arms for a snuggle. When Billy gets home, she whimpers until he scoops her up and holds her like a baby.
And, like her predecessor Porter, she likes to be my constant companion. She'll follow me anywhere, up and down stairs and back or into the darkest corner of our basement. Right now, we're fixing up our new house, and Abigail follows me from room to room, then dozes at my feet while I work. She just wants to be together.
Mostly, she is just herself ... innocent and hopeful and bursting with love.
Thanks, Abigail. You have a tough job to do, but you're doing fine.
I miss him every day. I miss him so much, I've resorted to magical thinking -- desperately wishing for a way to time travel back to the accident and save him. I've carefully thought through every magical scenario. Would I tell my husband I'd come from a terrible future? Would he believe me? Or would I secretly watch the next six weeks unfold all over again, only happier, because this time, I'd have my little guy by my side?
Sound crazy? I know. This is why I've grown impatient with myself. No one wants to feel crazy.
But a friend lifted a great burden when she put it this way: Love and grief are completely entwined. When the heart can no longer love -- at least, not the way it's used to -- the feeling turns to grief. But the feeling never dulls.
That made sense to me. Love turns into grief.
Anyone who loves will eventually grieve.
But recently, I learned that there is another ending to that sad sentence.
It happened because I celebrated my birthday. I love my birthday. I love everyone's birthday, and I like to make a big fuss. But this year, I couldn't imagine how I could possibly have a happy birthday. I knew my only wish (to have Porter back) could never come true, so I wanted to let the day pass by with as little disappointment as possible.
But my loved ones didn't let that happen. Even though I didn't make a big deal out of my birthday, they did. For three days straight, I was showered with love and surprises. My friends took me out, bought me drinks, and pulled me onto the dance floor. My husband presented a cake onstage at a concert, and got the entire audience to sing to me. His band went along with the party and even dedicated my favorite song to me. The next night, I got to be the guest of honor at a decadent birthday dinner party. I even got Facetimed from afar.
Love helps heal a broken heart, and I got so much love.
Love turns to grief. Sad but true.
But love (and time) turns grief back to love again.
It's such a relief to realize that. That you really can dance and laugh again without loving any less.
Thank you Billy, Mom, Dad, Madge, Jessica, Christy, Krista, Megan, The Ten Band, Marcy, Chris, Alex, Dale, Line, my co-workers, Winnie, Firefly, and everyone who sent me a present or sweet message for my birthday this year. You made me so happy. I love you.
After our dog was killed, Billy and I were stunned by the outpouring of love that we received. Our apartment was filled with cards, letters, and flowers. Friends delivered cookies and lasagna and made donations in his name.
Some of the tokens came from people I didn't even know. Porter's dog walkers were crushed by the news and sent beautiful flowers and heartfelt texts.
Then one night, Billy and I came home to a sympathy card with unfamiliar handwriting. It was signed by Jimbo the maintenance man, who told us how much he would miss Porter.
Billy and I were surprised, and, to be honest, pretty suspicious. We didn't know Jimbo or how he knew that we'd lost our dog. We worked through strange scenarios and questioned our neighbors ... how did Jimbo know about Porter's sad passing? Had he witnessed it? Was there something sinister going on?
I barely slept that night as stories ran through my mind. The next morning, I walked down to our basement and found another maintenance man. I asked for Jimbo.
Jimbo came out. He seemed gentle and kind, and when I told him who I was, his eyes softened with sadness.
He said that neighbors in another building told him about Porter, and that he had delivered their flowers to our door. He told me that he loved making repairs in our apartment because Porter would always come sit with him and watch him work. He said that Porter was his little buddy. And, he said, Porter is waiting for me at the Rainbow Bridge.
I drove to work in tears, feeling sorry that I had been suspicious of Jimbo. It turned out, Jimbo was yet another person who was touched by Porter's sweet and loving heart. Porter made so many people happy.
How many people lose their dog and learn that he had friends they didn't even know about?
Porter leaves a true legacy of love.
I'm still struggling to process how something so bad and so random could happen to such a good dog. Did the universe think we had more happiness than we deserved? Or are we truly at the mercy of such random, cruel accidents, every single day? Both possibilities are terrifying.
But my friend Kim told me,
"I believe that God needed Porter. He has bigger plans for him. Porter was here when you needed him and now he is needed by someone else."
Normally, I believe that we're all on our own out here, grasping whatever we can in a detached and random universe. But I so hope this is true. Porter did arrive like an angel -- a little miracle -- when I desperately needed him. I adopted him, I watched him become healthy and happy, I got married, and my heart filled with love.
And then he left.
Porter, I hope your little soul is still spreading love. You were made of love .. and I believe you still are.
I am devastated to report that my sweet Beagle Porter lost his life in a bizarre and tragic accident. My beautiful dog was strangled to death by his Martingale collar while we were at work.
In an effort to drown out my last horrific memory of Porter, I've compiled a list of happy memories.
I love you and miss you, little Porter. I will love and miss you every day.
Why Porter the Beagle Was an Angel on Earth (A Partial List in Progress)
1.When I walked him down the stairs of our
apartment building, he’d pause on each landing, look up at me, and wait for me
to caress his face. After we touched, he’d continue happily down the stairs.
This is Porter waiting for a caress.
2.Any time I put my hand out, he’d rest his chin
in it. Every time. It was as though he was saying, “Here. Hold my head.”
3.He didn’t trust my husband Billy when he first met him,
and refused to go on walks with him. In time, Porter grew to love and trust
Billy like a dad. I loved seeing them play together. He loved when Billy got home. Here are pictures of Porter spotting Billy on the street. He was so happy to see him.
A Beagle happy to see his dad.
4.When Porter was happy, he wiggled around on his
back with his head stretched back and his paws in the air. We called it
“Beagling.”
5.On weekdays, I’d have to go into his bedroom to wake
him up. He would cover his eyes with his paws to block out the daylight. I
would rub him while he “Beagled” around, sometimes biting his bed. Then he’d happily
jump out of bed for his breakfast. I never liked waking up, but I loved going
into his room to wake him. It got every day off to a wonderful start.
6.On weekends, Porter likes to sleep in. He'd sleep in as long as I let him, unless he had to go out, in which case, he'd tap-dance outside our bedroom door. I would hear his little toenails click against the hardwood floor.
7.Just two weeks before we lost him, I bought him
a bed called a cuddle cup. He loved it so much that when I pulled it out of the
shopping bag, he grabbed it with his mouth and ran away with it! Here is a video.
8.He would sink inside and sleep in his cuddle cup.
Then when I passed him, I’d see his little head pop up from his cuddle cup.
9.He would convince me to take him to the park on
weekends. He always knew when it was Saturday or Sunday and would plant his
feet, refusing to go anywhere but the park. It was uncanny how well he knew what day it was.
Porter is sad because he wants to go to the park.
Porter is happy because we're going to the park.
10.One day this Spring, I took him for a long walk
before he was ready. He wasn’t in shape yet from being cooped up all winter! After a while he got tired, and he
let me carry him the entire way home. I loved it.
11.In the wintertime, his feet would get too cold,
so he’d get me to carry him home from our walks. I loved the feeling of his
warm little body against my chest.
12.He always wore a little coat or sweater in the winter. His dog walker would dress him before their walks.
13.One day, I took him to my friend Dale’s house. I
left him in the car (with the air conditioner running). Then I went inside to use
the bathroom. Porter got anxious and honked the car horn —really laid on the car horn! — until I came
out to see what the fuss was about. When I went back inside, he laid on the car
horn again. It’s like he was saying, “Mom, I hope you can hear this! I’m still
out here!”
14.When you
scratched him on his rear, he always stuck one of his back legs straight out
behind him, It looked like a yoga pose. I called it his “yoga leg.”
15.Sometimes I would go to Station Street
Hot Dog by myself and take a seat by the window. Porter would sit in my
driver’s seat in my car and we’d watch each other while I ate my dinner.
16.He had
the best head tilt. Any time you showed him something or made a noise, he
tilted his head in deep concentration.
17.He had the happiest, most joyful Beagle smile.
He often looked like he was laughing.
18.He could drink a whole bowl of water in a
sitting, Every time I looked at his bowl, it was empty!
19.He really knew his name. If you even said a word that
rhymed with it, like “reporter,” he’d jump to attention.
20.He knew
that “Beagle” referred to him too. If I said “Beagle,” he’d stop what he was
doing and look at me.
Little Beagle in my office at work, smiling at me.
21.When he
spent the night at my mom and dad's house, they liked tucking him in at night. Porter would
fluff the bed over and over and bite his covers.
22.He loved
me most of all. He hated when I wasn’t around and always waited at the back door for me to get
back.
23.He would stare longingly at our back door until I got home.
Staring at the back door, waiting for me ...
24.If I
surprised him and got home early, he’d scramble off his bed, out of his
bedroom, and around the corner to jump all over me.
25.He smelled
so cute.
26.But he
needed a lot of baths. He was such a good boy when I took him to the
do-it-yourself dog wash. He didn’t like the washing part, but he loved to be
toweled dry and he’d run around the room so happily when he was done. He loved
choosing a pig ear to eat while I paid the cashier.
27.He didn’t
really like to give kisses, but he’d lick me when he was happy and sleepy.
28.One woman
always tried to get him to kiss her, but he flat-out refused. I never liked her
and neither did he! He was a good judge of character.
29.He suddenly
learned to cuddle one day when Billy had the flu. Billy spent the night on the
couch, and Porter spent his night sleeping between Billy’s legs. After that
day, Porter always wanted to be draped across us while we sat on the couch.
Can you find Porter's little face?
30.He loved when Billy had that flu. When Porter
and I came back from a dog walk, Porter gallopped through the apartment to dive onto
Billy on the couch. He didn’t want to get up until Billy felt better.
Porter tucked between Billy's legs.
31. He loved to be comfortable.
32.He was so cute and small. He was the perfect
petite size.
33.He had
brown freckles on his legs.
34.He had one little ear that was shorter because his previous owner
sliced the end off with scissors. Both of his ears were so soft and adorable.
Little ear, flipped up.
35.He let me clean out his ears with a cotton
ball with no trouble. He never fought me on anything. (Although he really didn't like to have his nails trimmed.)
36.We would spoon on the couch. I loved sleeping
against his little furry back.
37.Billy knew just how to pick Porter up, drape
him across me, and relax him so he’d fall asleep on me.
38.Porter’s nose was perfectly black.
39.And he had an adorable white stripe down his nose.
Porter had an enormous personality.
40.His cute little feet smelled like Fritos.
41.Porter hated to see me upset. One day, Billy and I got into a heated
discussion and I started to cry. I was so consumed by the discussion
that I didn't even notice that Porter had crept into the room and sat at
my feet. I looked down to find him worriedly pressed against my leg and
staring at me. He was so upset that I was crying.
42.He looked so cute in a sweater or hoodie. Or
sunglasses. Or bow tie. Or feather boa. He would wear anything you put on
him.
This was not Photoshopped.
43.He would eat anything, even a stalk of
asparagus.
44.He looked and sounded extra cute chewing a baby
carrot.
45.Riding in the car made him serious and sleepy.
He never fussed in the car; he rode like a little sleepy person.
46.When I first brought him home, he was afraid
of his bird-shaped toy and hid it under the futon. I thought he was playing a
game, but soon I realized that he was terrified and didn’t like to see it.
47.He liked going to my mom and dad’s house. He knew that he had to pee twice before he was allowed inside.
48.He was a perfect tri-color Beagle. He could
have been a model for Beagles.
49.He was good at going to restaurants with outdoor seating. He would
sit beside my table with no fuss.
50.He always let me pick him up and carry him.
51.If he had
to go outside, he didn’t fuss. He just silently invaded your personal space
until you got the message.
52.When I first brought him home, he would howl
when I left the apartment. One time, I drove past his bedroom window. I saw him
in there, staring out the window, and he wasn’t howling. But when he saw me, he threw back his head and started howling again!
I sped quickly away.
53.Porter loved to chase his toys back and forth
when he got excited (usually because someone he loved got home). He’d run back and forth
through the apartment like a madman. Sometimes, he'd forget to "fetch" his toy and just run laps. Our downstairs neighbors said they were surprised to discover how small he really was, since he sounded like a horse.
54.When Porter played with other dogs, he liked
other Beagles best. He had a Beagle best friend when he went to the Small Dog Socials at Animal Friends. One day, Porter spotted his best friend at the park! It took the dog's owner and I a moment to recognize each other, though our dogs already had.
55.He wouldn’t make eye contact with our cat. But
when she was near, he would look everywhere else awkwardly.
56.…But if he had the opportunity, he would try
to sniff her butt.
57.He liked to take different walks, not the same
walk every day. He always tried to drag me down a new path.
58.Sometimes Porter would sleep in the closet. No one
knew why.
59.He
was so, so, so sad when I met him. He was too frightened to even make
eye contact with me. But slowly, over time, he started to like me. Here
he is the first time I ever saw him:
60.When the
backseat of our car was filled with Billy’s guitars, Porter would have to sit
on Billy’s lap in the front seat. He always did so perfectly calmly. He never
seemed to mind being held.
61.When I put
my shoes and socks on, he’d pretend to bite at my socks.
62.When he
wanted to convince me to take him somewhere, he would hit me with both arms like Elaine Benes on Seinfeld. I imagined he was saying,
“Get out!”
63.But he was never, ever obnoxious. He was always
obedient and eager to please.
Beautiful Beagle smile
64.For a wonderful month, I brought him to work
with me every day, On his last day in my office, he realized he could sit in
the chairs. They were just his size. He would sit across from my desk and watch
me.
65.One night, we walked him down Braddock Avenue
and he noticed someone had food at a sidewalk table, so he quickly sat down and
sat up in “beg” position.
66.When it was cold in the winter, Porter and I
would drive Billy to the bus stop. I’d walk Porter around in the snow while
Billy waited for the bus. Porter would try to hold out as long as he could, but
eventually he’d get too cold so he’d hurry up and do his business. Then he’d
run back to the car as fast as he could! He’d try to get UNDER the protective seat cover, which I didn't like since he had muddy paws! So I put a dog bed in the car for him. He liked diving
into his car bed and snuggling.
67.One time, when Billy and Porter came back from a walk, Porter brought me a tulip in his collar.
68.He was honestly just the happiest dog. He thought every day was the best day of his life.
69.On my 33rd birthday, he wore a
balloon all day long.
70.He wore a headset for a parody video to look
like a telemarketer. He was so good about it.
71.He’d never, ever, go in our bedroom, because
he wasn’t allowed. but he would tap dance outside of it.
72.On his last full day with us, he got bored while Billy and I slept in. When we woke up, we found that he'd dragged his
toy basket into the middle of the living room. This was when we discovered it.
73.He had a
real prance to his step. It was so cute.
74.When Billy
got out of the car to open the garage door, Porter always looked at him like,
“Well, goodbye, sorry you don’t get to stay with mom and me.”
75.He was a
GOOD dog, who mostly slept and cuddled and just wanted to be near us.
Sweet Beagle gaze
76.While I pumped gasoline while he was in the
car, he would frantically wave at me the whole time, like he was saying, “I’m
still in here!”
77.He would do whatever you told him to do. On this day, I wanted to photograph our new living room rug, so I told Porter to go sit in the middle of the room and look at me. So he did.
78.When I was watching the movie Taken, he jumped out of his bed, ran
from his bedroom, and stood in front of the TV, tilting his head, because he
heard a dog bark.
79.When I sorted my laundry, he liked to roll
around in my clothes and let me cover him up with them. He would bite them.
80.When I took him to the laundry room in my
apartment building, he would immediately leap onto the couch and sit there like
a person. He liked to be comfortable.
81.When I did laundry at my mom’s house, he would
look for somewhere comfortable to lay … maybe the corner of a rug or blanket …
so he could watch me. He never took his eyes off me.
82.I don’t think he had ever seen a window before
he lived with me. He was fascinated by windows, and I even found him sitting on
a table to look out his bedroom window!
83. When you asked him to "give paw," he reached out and tapped your hand twice -- "tap tap!"
84. When Porter was still my foster dog, my car was struck in an awful car accident. Porter went flying across back seat, but he was okay. A tow truck came and Porter sweetly sat between me and the tow truck driver as we drove away. Then he lay politely beside me in the me in the mechanic's office until a rental car came.
Foster Beagle in a tow truck
85. Once he settled into our routine, he never made another sound. He was a rare, silent Beagle.
86. For some reason, he preferred to eat his meals in the dining room. We always fed him in the kitchen, but he would carry his meals into the dining room.
87. He was always underfoot. He just liked hanging out.
On this day, he missed me so much, he was using a corner of my sweater sleeve as a pillow.
88. When he got really excited about a bone or toy, he wanted to take it with him on his walk.
89. When it was cold, he loved to be rolled up in a toasty warm Beagle burrito.
90. He was a quiet dog, but he'd bark in his dreams. They were cute little muffled barks.
91.When I
took Porter to the Volunteer Banquet at Animal Friends, he just laid on the bed
I brought for him. He was such a polite guest.
92. He wore a party hat for my birthday.
93. Sometimes he’d keep squatting out for what
felt like 5 minutes after he pooped. It was like he needed a magazine to read
or something.
94. When I fed Porter and the cat treats, Porter was so gentle and never rushed the cat, even though it took her 10 times longer to finish chewing a single treat. He would just wait, watch, and drool. As soon as she walked away, he'd look at me, and I'd give him permission to scarf up the crumbs she'd left behind.
95. He loved his toy hedgehog. Twice, the neighbor dog broke into our apartment by bursting through our unlocked door. The neighbor dog always went straight for Porter's hedgehog and would begin to destroy it. That was one of the only times I ever saw Porter cry. He whined mournfully as he watched his hedgehog get killed. Thankfully and to everyone's great relief, our neighbor rescued the hedgehog, re-stuffed it, and sewed it back together.
Beagle and hedgehog reunited.
96. He was terrified of hair dryers and riding
through the car wash.
97. One day, he decided to chew a bone on the stairs at my mom's house. He fit perfectly because he was exactly as wide and almost as long as one step.
98. He was so expressive.
He was very proud to have this dried fish stick.
He wore his heart on his little sleeve.
99. He had fun at Billy’s mom’s fenced yard … but
he still tried to escape.
100. Sometimes his little tongue poked out for no reason.
Tiny Beagle tongue
101. He loved my mom's dog, Winnie.
Beagle and Great Dane mix
102. He really seemed to like Christmas.
Christmas Beagle
103. One time when Billy was walking Porter, Porter ran to Billy's car and seemed to think they were going for a ride. Billy put Porter in the car and drove him around the block for no reason at all. Porter had a blast.
104. One time, I decided to take Porter for his morning walk while Billy was walking to catch his bus to work. When Billy parted ways with us, Porter couldn't stand it. He was beside himself. He only wanted to chase after Billy. He could hardly concentrate on completing his walk.
105. When I wasn't home, Porter liked to pull my coats off of their hangers and cuddle with them. I didn't mind this too much, except that he bit the buttons off! I guess they were uncomfortable.
106. Whenever I shopped for his clothes, I always accidentally thought Porter was much smaller than he really was. I always came home with clothes that were way too tiny for him. I guess I really thought he was my baby.
This Beagle's coat is way too small.
107. When he was still my foster dog, he didn't have much reason to trust people. But I had an inkling that he loved me the first night I had to leave him overnight with the vet. They said he howled the whole time, until he saw me again! He didn't sleep at all that night because he just howled. He finally relaxed when I took him back.
108. I have a pair of jeans that are studded with little rhinestones. For some reason, Porter like to bite the rhinestones off with his little front teeth! He always tried to be discreet about it. It felt so cute when he did that.
109. Early on, I told Porter he wasn't allowed in my bedroom because that is where the cat sleeps. So, he never entered my bedroom again. Sometimes he would stand at the very edge of the room and peer in (and I would always rush out to see him!). But one day, we both forgot. He followed me into my bedroom and started looking at purses with me. Suddenly, I said, "Wait! You're in the bedroom!" And he ran out! I can't believe this is a totally true story, but it is.
110. He never stood when he could sit. He loved to snuggle down.
Beagle with a toothy smile.
111. Every night before bed, Billy would take Porter outside for one last potty break. I would wait for them at the top of the steps and when I saw them, I'd open my arms. Porter would run to greet me as though he'd been gone a long time.
112. One day at my old job, I had to give a presentation at a board meeting. My boss invited Porter to join the meeting. Porter sat politely behind my chair the entire time. When it was my turn to go to the front of the room and present, Porter trotted up and sat down beside me, facing our audience.
113. When my mother in law bought her new car, Porter went into the dealership with us. It was a blustery winter day and he had his little coat on. He was such a good boy. He got bored and sleepy.
Porter yawning at North Hills Toyota.
114. When he was a new dog, he didn't understand pillows. He would push them off the couch onto the floor as though they were in his way. Then one day, he realized that pillows are comfortable. After that, he loved resting his little head on a pillow.
115. He liked helping his dad grill.
116. His little bottom teeth would show when he smiled.
117. He used to follow me everywhere, even into the bathroom. Billy took a video of how Porter would dutifully trot along at my heels even if I was just circling the coffee table or pacing around the apartment. He was such a loyal little guy.
118.He was an easy dog. Mostly, he wanted to nap.
119. I never trained him to "sit pretty," but somehow he knew to sit and throw his paws in the air when he was really desperate for something.
120. The day I officially adopted him, I didn't quite know what to do with him, so I drove him to my mom's house for a visit. On the way there, The Beatles' "Let It Be" came on the radio. I sang it to him with gusto, changing the words to "Let it Beagle, let it Beagle! Let it BEAGLE, let it Beag!" He stared at me and tilted his head at me, as though the whole thing was very curious. It was sweet.
121. One night, Billy said he was too tired to take Porter outside. So Porter and I both made this face at him. It worked. I would give anything to hold that little bundle of Beagle again.
123. I took this photo of Porter on the the first night he ever slept over at my apartment. He was sick and still a little scared at the time, and wasn't really housebroken yet. I wasn't quite sure what to do with him besides look at him and talk to him. But I already adored him. He was so good because he would lay wherever I put a blanket down. He just wanted to do the right thing.
124. A friend wanted to meet him after only seeing Porter's pictures on Facebook. My friend was surprised to find that Porter was an adult Beagle, not a puppy. His little face and stocky arms looked so babyish in photos.
125. One summer day, my family and I took our dogs to a coffee shop. The front of the building was completely open to let the summer breeze inside. My mom and I sat inside while our dogs sat outside, just inches away from us on the other side of a little brick wall. Even though he was still connected to me by his leash, Porter decided that he wanted to be inside with me. He could have just jumped over the wall. Instead, he decided to climb over it like a little monkey. He threw his arms over the wall and scrambled up it, using his little back toenails to scale the wall. He arrived and landed happily in my lap, while I giggled like crazy.
126. All I ever did was treat Porter like a baby. But when Billy came along, he taught Porter how to wrestle and play. Porter would sometimes act like he was going to get us ... but when he used his teeth, he was the most gentle little guy in the world. He would lightly touch his teeth to our skin as though he was biting us ... but wouldn't dare.
127. He was klutzy. Our back stairs were steep for his little legs, and he fell up the steps at least once a day. He would smack his little chin off the step and pick himself right back up again!
128. He would
do one final pee on the bushes every night, and he would pee for such a long
time that the neighbors would have to laugh. They would let their dogs run
around the yard while Porter just stood there, peeing one long pee. Porter
looked so serious while he did it, too.
129. Porter taught me the best way to wake someone up--with a brisk rub! When he didn't want to get out of bed, I'd briskly rub him on both sides. He'd roll around and finally hop out of bed. I learned that this works when Billy does it to me, too! A good rub down can really get you going. :)
130. I used to take him everywhere that I possibly could. He was my sidekick, my shadow, my friend. I never felt lonely with him by my side.
131. Billy determined that Porter had a British accent. We always spoke for
Porter, with an accent. He also had a funny habit of mispronouncing
things. At least, that was our joke. It never failed to make me laugh.
132. He liked to help me cook, or clean, or anything, really. He especially appreciated if I dragged a bed into the room for him. On this day, he watched me make lentil soup (until he got sleepy!).
133. He had a little brown swirl on his back leg. It looked like a creamy curl on top of a Dairy Queen ice cream.
134. He loved, loved, loved to chase bunnies. It was funny when he tried to tiptoe and sneak up on them.
135. I loved how when he laid on the floor, his back legs splayed out behind him like frog legs.
136. He was ridiculously talented at opening the car windows.
137. It made him so happy if you gave him an ice cube. He thought it was fun because it was slippery and he got to chase it around before he ate it.
138. My mom reminded me of how serious he was about fixing his bed. Sometimes, he got so into it, he would fall off the bed and have to start over:
139. He loved to chew things.
140. Sometimes, his silly little ears would turn inside out. He didn't care.
141. Porter gave me a sense of purpose. When I met him, I was coping with sadness. He was sick and needed care, and it gave me something to do and something to focus on. As he got stronger, I was able to take him places, whether on walks or to socialize with friends. I never felt lonely with him around, and he made me feel stronger, too.
142. Sometimes, Porter was too sleepy to take his last potty break of the night. Billy would strap Porter's leash to his collar and Porter would pretend he was still sleeping in his dog bed, unaware of the leash. We'd have to plead with him to get up. Then he'd stumble downstairs and pee on the first bush outside, barely opening his eyes.
143. When Porter was excited to go for a walk, he would accidentally slam the door shut while I was trying to open it.
144. One icy day when I was walking Porter, I slipped and fell on my building's parking lot. The parking lot is a steep slope, so I slid all the way down it on my hands and knees. Porter ran along beside me, extremely concerned and sniffing me.
145. When he sat in the backseat of my car. he liked to sit behind the passenger seat. I think it was so he could see me while I drove.
146. He loved my mom and dad's yard and never wanted to come inside. So my mom would scoop him up his her arms to carry him inside. He would go limp, like a defeated little rag doll. But as soon as he got inside, he'd happily scamper off to his next adventure.
147. He had white eye lashes.
148. There was this:
149. We lived on the second floor of our apartment building. Every single time Porter and I walked up the back stairs, he would stop at our neighbors' door on the first floor, as though it was our door. Every single day, I'd tell him to keep walking. It's as though he didn't understand why we couldn't just use the first door, which looked just like ours!
150. He never barked when he was awake, but he barked all the time in his sleep.
151. Sometimes Billy would speak for Porter--in a British accent. He always made Porter say inappropriate things. I would go along with the joke and exclaim "Porter!" At which point Porter would jump and look around, like, "What? What did I do?!"
152. One time, Billy and I were standing in the kitchen, talking. Billy paused thoughtfully with a cracker in his hand. I watched Porter sail off the floor, carefully nab Billy's cracker with his front teeth, and land. By the time his little paws hit the floor again, that cracker was long gone!
153. I even miss using the bathroom. He'd come in and rub his little head on my legs in the morning.
154. Anytime I returned home, Porter would run and greet me as though I'd been gone for weeks. I'd greet him, then hold him back a little while I greeted my cat. Those couple seconds that I petted the cat were almost more than Porter could bear. He'd dance and jump and get so crazily impatient for my attention. Then I'd turn around and give him lots of love.
