PhotoDude.com

Tue. Sep 04, 2007

You're Ready For A Reason

Last month I updated a site for a client of mine, author E.C. Sheedy, and her words sort of cemented some thoughts I’ve had this past year or so.

If you’ve poked around my website, you’ve seen pictures of my Rhodesian Ridgeback, Roan, my writing buddy. And while a picture is worth a thousand words, it takes at least a few words to tell sad stories. And my sad story is that we lost Roan in early May. He was almost ten years old, and losing him — holding him while the vet put him into his final sleep — was one of the hardest and saddest days of my life. Roan was stubborn, neurotic, silly, talkative, unpredictable, and the best listener in the house. We were his slaves and he was ours. When we lost him to cancer, my husband and I were convinced we would never get another dog. And we had good, logical reasons — or so we thought; it was one less responsibility in lives filled with them, it was exhausting even thinking about going through the puppy stage, the training, the housebreaking … but most of all we didn’t want to face loving and losing another canine pal. It was just too painful. Too raw.

Well, guess what? Our logic failed, and in mid August, we bring home another Ridgeback friend. We think we’ll call him Zuke, but we’ll have to live with the little guy for a few days to see if it the name fits. Why did we do it? I guess because in the end, it was the best way to honor Roan — and the Rhodesian Ridgeback, a truly remarkable breed of dog. We think Roan would agree.

E.C. Sheedy: Dog Stories

Reading of her loss of Roan reminded me of losing Fuji last year. But that seemingly impulsive decision to adopt a new puppy brings you back around to thinking about … why? More specifically, why now?

I believe there’s a reason, one we can never exactly put our finger on.

While I’ve always loved animals, the concept of having a pet didn’t truly enter my life until I did some volunteer photography at the Atlanta Humane Society in the fall of 1992. When I had a break from shooting, I’d go play with the puppies and kittens available for adoption, still not really thinking about taking one home.

Until I did.

After a couple of weekends of the above, I decided I’d come back during the week and pick a kitten to adopt, the kitten I’d already decided I would name Fuji (because I’d met a couple of “studio dogs” named Kodak). However, as I described in her story, she picked me. I recognized it as such at the instant it happened.

We had 14 great years together, but when she passed (combined with the double whammy of losing Dad that same month), getting another cat not only never crossed my mind, for a long time I could not bring myself to think about it. We still had two great cats in our home, Bosco and Coco, and they have been my buds since they moved in with Susan nearly eight years ago.

But thinking about getting new kitties? Call me a pussy, but for many months, if I went to PetSmart and ventured over to the cat adoption area, I almost always left with a lump in my throat. Or worse. I can’t really explain the grief I felt (and still do) over Fuji’s death, but it overwhelmed any thoughts of adopting another.

Until it didn’t.

I guess it was sometime in May that some vague subconscious switch flipped in me, and I was willing to consider the idea of bringing some new lives into our lives. But then we had to fit that into the budgeting and logistics of our busy home, so it was actually late June before we left our home with a hopeful but empty cat carrier in the back seat.

Though we went to look at the Atlanta Humane Society first, we ended up looking at two kittens I’d spotted the previous day, their first at our local PetSmart. We got there ten minutes before adoption hours began, with our application filled out. And still, we nearly lost the soon-to-be Casper to another not-quite-as-early arrival, who gave up in disappointment when we said we were adopting Casper and his brother, the soon-to-be Leo.

In other words, if we’d gone “kitten shopping” just one weekend earlier, Leo and Casper were not yet available. If we’d been ten minutes later, Casper would have been gone. The timing of my “existential readiness,” combined with the vagaries of our schedule, drove us directly to that day, that narrow ten minute window, that led Casper and Leo into our home.

Like it was meant to be. Like I was ready for a reason. It was finally, and very specifically, time.