In Which We Reflect Upon the Beginning

As other people in my life prepare for the possibility of adopting a dog, it has made me reflect on the process through which I was lucky enough to get Rosie over two-and-a-half years ago.

I'd wanted a dog for over twenty years, ever since Katie Dog, our family's golden retriever, died when I was four.  So, I'd been perusing petfinder.com for several years prior to getting Rosie, and doing a fair amount of research.  A lot of people told me that beagles are an extremely bad fit for apartment and city living, but I have always loved so much about them, from their aesthetic qualities to their friendly dispositions.  So, I settled pretty readily on the notion of a small beagle or beagle mix, and when the time finally came that I had a living situation in which I could get a dog, I set about looking for the perfect one for me.

I knew I wanted to rescue a dog, and not go to a breeder (or, G-d forbid, a puppy mill), and this would work out rather well, as I also knew that I wanted to get an adult dog, between a year and three years old, instead of a puppy.  The ASPCA and New York's Animal Care & Control both proved fairly unhelpful, as most of the dogs they listed on their site seemed to be pit bulls and pit bull mixes.  It didn't occur to me to visit the actual shelters, which turns out to have been a mistake, since I learned that they don't always put their new, adoptable dogs online in time before they get snatched up by someone else.

Fortunately, beagles are a popular breed, and one that is frequently used for lab testing, because of their lack of congenital health problems and generally accommodating personalities, so their are a lot of beagle-specific rescue agencies.  I started inquiring with several of them, and was quickly rebuffed on two accounts:

1. They don't like adopting to city dwellers.
2. They don't like adopting to first-time dog owners.

As far as the first concern goes, I believe I covered that nicely here. The second concern was really driving me nuts, though, as I felt like it was putting me in a Catch-22.  I mean, how was I supposed to become a seasoned dog owner, if no one would let me adopt my first dog?  The only answer, it seemed, was to go to a breeder, something I assumed a rescue agency would want to discourage, not promote.  I was in the midst of drafting a rant-like email to a beagle rescue agency on this very topic, when I got a response to a craigslist post I'd written on a whim.  My post read something like, "I am looking for a small beagle, ideally around a year old and female."  The response I got went like this:

Hi,

Are you still looking for a beagle?

We have a young female, spayed, highly loved, all shots.

Crate trained.

thanks

 I immediately stopped writing my angry email and told them I was interested.  They told me they were "VERY concerned about who adopts her and want to make sure she will have a very good and loving home."  And they also sent me the following two pictures of the dog they'd named Giselle (Gigi for short):

I immediately began to hem and haw, billing myself as a caring dog-lover with lots of free time (all true), but also warning that I was a first-time dog owner (also true).  They seemed taken with me anyway and suggested that we arrange a meeting for me and Gigi, so I immediately got sick (legitimately) and then claimed to stay sick for a while (illegitimately).

Finally, my friend and his mother drove me out to the far reaches of Queens to see her.  My friend's mother was immediately taken with Gigi, but I was aloof, nervous, intimidated.  Nonetheless, when the time came to head out, I looked at the man who was giving away this beautiful pup and said, "so… can I take her home today?"  And off we went.

When I look at those early photos, I see the same terror in Rosie's eyes that I was feeling all along, and goodness knows I made many, many mistakes on my path to being the dog owner I am today.  But I am eternally grateful to the people that let me adopt their dog, and more importantly to the part of me, buried deep inside, that knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that taking her home—jumping in headfirst—was exactly the right thing to do.