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Linda called me downstairs with a note of desperation in her voice.  "I need your help," she wailed.

I can generally predict that this particular note of despair in her voice reflects some frustration with the computer.  My girlfriend is not comfortable with it, to say the least. When she opened her very first Excel spreadsheet by mistake (she'd expected it to be a Word document), her screams could have been signaling the onset of the Apocalypse.  "Where did my arrow go?" she cried.  "What's this cross?!"

This time was different, however. I arrived on the scene to find her quite comfortably ensconced in front of a web page. "Look," she implored.

The page was graced with photos of a beautiful, compact German Shepherd. Her deep, soulful brown eyes hinted at some unknown tragedy. The instant tug on my heart strings signaled danger. I reminded myself that I am dreadfully allergic to dogs, and isn't one enough?  I'm a cat person, dammit. "You want to adopt her," I surmised, not hiding my annoyance.

"Just read," Linda cajoled, and clicked a link to pull up the dog's story. Five paragraphs later, I was practically sobbing. Stray.  Hit by a car. Broken pelvis, possibly a perforated colon. Then I hit the last sentence... "will need daily exercises and massage."

"Oh." I am a licensed massage therapist. And I had just been trapped.

"Puh--LEEZE?" Linda wheedled, striking an uncanny resemblance to my 4-year-old niece.

Six weeks and several hundred dollars later, Cori came to grace our home. We had to submit a 3-page application, pass a stringent home study, and successfully introduce her to our resident beagle before we passed muster as her new family.  The Mid-Atlantic German Shepherd Rescue, a nonproft group dedicated to the recovery and placment of these beautiful dogs, had spent over $2000 and countless hours on Cori's care. They were fierce protectors of their canine orphans, and they needed to be sure we were worthy of their investment.

From our end, we had to know that Cori would be safe with our cats, and would not be too aggressive with the beagle, who has no boundaries and has managed to hopelessly alienate every dog she's ever met, with the exception of a dachshund-beagle mutt who is even more hyper than she. Cori's foster mom had told us that she was okay with cats but liked to chase them. Her introduction to the beagle, though not without tense moments, went quite smoothly. However, Cori was not fully housebroken. And right before she came home, she was discovered to have heartworm. But love at first sight made those things less important somehow.

For a stray, Cori made herself quite at home immediately. She follows us everywhere that we allow her to, and sometimes even when we don't... she has severely tested our engineering skills by continually overcoming the baby gate we installed to keep her away from the cats. She now disdains the crate we were told she loved, because it keeps her separated from us. She seems to have infinite wisdom and patience with the beagle, and has been training her far more effectively than we've ever been able to. She valiantly tolerates our clumsy attempts to stretch her hip and walk her up and down the steps every day. And she rewards our attention with constant love, and scads of sloppy dog kisses.

As a testament to her lovability, when she started vomiting uncontrollably at 1 AM the Sunday after her arrival, although Linda was resigned to taking her to the emergency room by herself, I, avowed cat person that I am, allergic as I am, jumped in the car with them, sneezes and all. She'd been through so much already, it didn't seem fair. I sat in the back seat and patted her head the whole way. How can one broken dog create that kind of attachment so quickly?  Look at her face, and I bet you'll know. $1400 later, we found that Cori had developed a case of gastritis out of stress.

When Cori returned from the vet two days later, we found Linda's e-mail Inbox flooded with messages from rescue volunteers, wishing Cori a speedy recovery and thanking us for getting her the care she needed.  We were stunned, and deeply touched. These volunteers, most of whom we had never met, had opened ther hearts to us for Cori's sake, and showed us the kind of generosity that one usually reserves for family. And in a way, we are family now, thanks to the soulful gaze of a Shepherd.

Cori came home from vet with new antibiotics, new food, and boundless energy. It is now a challenge to get her to rest as much as she needs to get through her heartworm treatment.  Our one remaining problem is the cats. "Chase" was an understatement... Cori regards the cats as cheeseburgers on paws. So we've got a lot of training to do. And of course, there's the matter of my allergies. I get to train my antibodies, my own little internal Shepherds, too.

There's some pretty frenzied barking going on downstairs. I guess I've been up at the keyboard too long. Time for massage and exercises. And I can always use a Cori-kiss. Sniffle.

 

© 2006 Melissa Cross.  All rights reserved.  No part of this piece may be reproduced without the express permission of the author.