birthday

Dear Sam:

Today is your 2nd birthday.

You're right. Technically, we don't know that for sure. Touche. However--we do know it's Novemberish and we declared the 15th as the day in honor of Maggie, whose made-up birthday had been declared by yours truly as August 15th.

When we decided to start fostering rescue dogs--and Maggie, sweet old Maggie, was placed with us, I thought that was it. I pictured the rest of my days in bliss, driving the old mini van with the even older border collie down Lake Shore Drive with the windows down in the middle of the winter, just to make that old sweet soul happy.

But things come and go out of your life constantly and quickly---and now the mini, Maggie and even Lake Shore Drive are all behind me.

Everyone thought we were crazy when we decided to foster you after officially adopting Maggie.
You had been up for adoption alongside Maggie months before. We were a possible foster family, but alas--you got adopted out to a fancy rich couple and I was bathing a filthy howling collie mix in my bathtub.

The fancy rich couple lived downtown. See? They were fancy. But not good. Five months later, they broke up and as one might treat a toaster, they returned you. Just gave you back.

And then you become an emergency foster. And I received emails with subjects like, "Need Fosters ASAP!" and "Please Help Sam!" and "You with the coffee stained scarf! If you know what's good for you, you will leave work immediately and talk your girlfriend into fostering Sam. Put the coffee down and GO."

We took Maggie and my sister to the boarding facility to see if we all fit together. You wooed us with your clysdale-like walk and your attempts to hide behind a rack of t-shirts.
The first night, we didn't fit. You cried and barked and when all else failed to get my attention, stood next to my side of bed and peed, everywhere, proudly.

Now that I look back on it--maybe that was just your way of saying, "Mine. This apartment and these two women and that old dog are all mine now."

Or, maybe you were just pissed off you didn't get a 2am walk.

We pretended, for a couple of months, that we could adopt you out. A nice young couple even came to meet you. The man adored you. The woman scrunched up her forehead and worried aloud about the funny way you walk. She said "neurological?" as if it left a bad taste on the roof of her mouth.

We told them politely, thank you for your interest, but no--no, thank you at all.

Right after we adopted you, Maggie passed away. It should be in the fine print of the adoption agreement you sign--somewhere, lost in a footnote, should read "...and in the case of loss, your heart will be very broken for a great while."

I still miss her very, very much. You taught her the virture of patience and how to watch the world from the windows and she taught you to move a little slower & a little more graceful and how delicious cottage cheese actually is.

Sam: You have been such an utter joy. Despite the harrowing surgery to remove the ball you swallowed or that one-time incident where you decided that a toddler = the enemy or the period where you mistook my shoes as your personal collection of chew toys.
It is a thankful-time of year--and while I feel as silly writing my dog a thank you letter as I do muttering my adoration into your furry neck, it's things I want somebody to know.

Thank you for forgiving us so easily when we feed you a little late or ignore your silent pleas for tug-of-war.

I will try to not oversleep anymore and jip you on your morning walk.

But mostly, thank you for making my life better. For making me better.

Love,
The woman that doesn't let you on the furniture and sneaks you treats behind the other lady's back.