We rescued a dog

CEBU, Philippines - After seven years of living in the U.S., my husband and I finally got a dog. We both love dogs, but we had to wait until we rented a house instead of an apartment to get one. We both agreed that living with a dog with little command of his bowels and bladder inside a one-bedroom apartment would be torture for both humans and the dog.

My husband Klaus wondered how I was going to put up living with a dog anyway, when I was obsessive about cleanliness. The carpet had to be vacuumed regularly. Dishes promptly washed. Garbage taken out before it’s full. Dust had to be wiped off. All these things had to be done, or else I was going to turn into The Invisible Hulk. On the other hand, he wasn’t bothered by a film of dust thick enough to plant small flowers in. I was the Mistress of handwashing. The Queen of showers.  (Hey, it’s not unusual for us Filipinos to shower twice a day.) But my longing for a canine companion was stronger than my germ obsession.

We didn’t immediately agree on what kind of dog we should get. Klaus wanted a “real dog”, not one of those “rats” that Paris Hilton owns. Chihuahuas and any dog that fit inside a purse were banned from his list. I joked that he was a dog racist. I wasn’t that bothered because I had a crush on cocker spaniels, and their size passes his standards. I liked them because they looked so foreign to my Filipino eyes. Cocker spaniels are epitomized by the Disney character Lady from Lady and the Tramp: long fluffy ears, feathery fur, big eyes. Meanwhile, Klaus wanted a Rottweiler, a.k.a. the Devil Dog. I said no.

A month ago, the search for our dog began.  We didn’t want to purchase dogs like they were merchandise. Aside from the fact that these dogs cost around $1,000, we didn’t like the idea of “puppy mills”, where dogs are bred for profit.

Instead we wanted to rescue a dog from animal shelters or rescue organizations. There, unwanted dogs are in need of homes. Otherwise, they would be euthanized to control overpopulation.

We found a gorgeous black cocker spaniel/labrador retriever mix named Daisy who was in Santa Barbara, California. We were willing to drive 6 hours to meet her and pick her up. I filled out an application online with the following questionnaire: how many hours will the dog be left alone? What is your $ limit for a major vet bill? How many family members are there and what are the ages of the children? Is there anyone home during the day? How long will the dog be left alone on average? Where will the dog sleep? Where will the dog be when you are not at home? What brand of dog food are you planning on feeding? What is your lifestyle like?

Wow, these questions were more personal than a job interview. Apparently, “dog adoption” as they called it, was as tedious as adopting a child. Perhaps in some countries, child adoption is easier.  

Daisy’s “foster parent” had some questions for me after I submitted my application. She said she was concerned about my intention of having Daisy sleep in the garage. She informed me that Daisy was sleeping in her bed. She lectured me about cocker spaniels. She said they feel like they’re part of the family. They don’t like to be left out in the garage; they don’t like being left alone during the day. If they are, then they act out, tearing things and making a mess.

It sounded like cocker spaniels were divas.

Could it be that the foster parent was going overboard? Perhaps these animals could handle being alone and living in the garage. But from the moment they are born, they sleep in people’s beds and lounge around the house.  They don’t know anything else. So when another family adopts them and brings them to the garage, they are like a millionaire’s child who is suddenly forced to live in the squatter’s area. Of course, they would be shocked.

Whatever the case, Klaus and I decided to get another kind of dog. We settled on Labrador retrievers. My family had a Lab when I was still living in Cebu, and he was the sweetest creature. We found our puppy through an ad on Craigslist. She was staying with foster parents from a local rescue organization. We went to see her on a Saturday, and brought her home the next day. She is a Labrador mix, with light brown fur and white patches on her paws that look like socks. The most striking feature about her are her eyes: light brown, almost hazel. She was tentative when we first met her, but was easily bribed with a dog treat. We named her Rogue.

First we established ground rules. Dog must not wear silly costumes or clothing. In America, it is common to have a whole wardrobe for your dog, and last year the highest rise in Halloween sales was Animal Costumes. But Klaus and I were not Americans, and were not used to that kind of thing. Americans commonly let their pets sleep in their beds, another practice we didn’t tolerate. The dog may roam the house, but must not sleep inside, and under any circumstance must not pee or poop in the house.

Our dog did both on her first day home.

After Rogue’s first night in the garage, Klaus announced “4 bombs and 3 lakes”, his new code for the dog taking a dump and peeing on the garage floor. Here was the challenge to my germaphobia. Caring for dogs is different in America. In the Philippines, we played and had fun with our dogs, but we passed on the caregiving to our house help. We didn’t do the feeding or the cleaning up. Well, in America it’s all on you. You must carry plastic bags specifically made for picking up dog poop (I overheard a gay man who once called it a “poopie bag”). Imagine me, the Queen of Clean, picking up dog poop. Initially I washed my hand three times after doing the task. I’m better now. I only wash twice.

On her second day with us, Rogue was lethargic and whimpering. There were slimy discharges from her eyes. Her nose was running. I was no vet, but I recognized a sick dog when I saw one. When I came home late that morning, she looked weaker. She hadn’t eaten or drank anything since I’d left. She barely moved. I picked her up and drove to the vet.

That first visit to the vet cost me $350. The doctor suspected she might have the “distemper” virus, a nasty killer for dogs. He said dogs that came from rescue organizations commonly had the distemper floating around, because they get in contact with so many different dogs and pick up so many germs. The vet didn’t want her to stay longer than necessary at the hospital because the virus was easily transmitted to other dogs. As soon as her treatment was done I was asked to take her back to the car. She was shunned like a leper.

It was only the second day, but already Klaus and I were attached to the dog. We didn’t want her to die after two days. I had visions of her growing big and swimming in the sea and getting into all sorts of exciting affairs like Lassie.

When the vet called two days later to tell me it wasn’t distemper, it was like hearing “it’s not cancer!” Again, visions of her growing old with us played in my mind. 

Klaus is more devoted to the dog now. He bought a heater for her since it’s winter and gets cold in the garage at night. He built her a dog house, one with insulated walls. We joke about having a housewarming party for her. Maybe we’ll light scented candles inside the dog house. But she’d only eat those—she’s at that phase where she’s chewing everything in sight.

We rescued a dog, but she rescued us too. She makes a bad mood go away. Even when she stealthily comes towards me while I am reading out in the yard, casually picks up my favorite tsinelas between her teeth and walks away, preparing to feast on it. (FREEMAN)