December 17th, 2005, I walked into the Boise Humane Society to find a dog, a companion, an alternative to anti-depressants. I brought my three oldest nephews with me so that I could make sure that whatever dog I picked picked me would be good with a few rambunctious kids.
We walked through the seemingly endless rows of kennels. Lot of sweet dogs, lots of eyes staring up at me asking to be taken home. My nephews kept gravitating towards the puppies and urging me to take a little puppy home. "No," I told them. "Those puppies will be be swooped up and taken to new homes in no time. I want a dog. A dog that wouldn't get a good life otherwise."
They sulked a bit, and we continued to walk around the kennels. My girlfriend at the time was mystified by my method. There are hundreds of dogs with sad eyes that need a good home, she kept saying. Why can't we just grab the first one we saw, save him, and spare ourselves the heartache of looking at all those other sad eyes?
She had never been to a pound before. She didn't understand. I tried to explain that they pick us, but she thought I was crazy.
I was about to call the search off until another day and gather everyone up back in the car when something tugged at me. No, not this aisle, no, not this one- this one.
I walked until I came upon the kennel that was calling my name to see a fat, silver Pit Bull. He was cute and seemed nice enough but, no, that wasn't him. I stood there for a moment, confused.
Then, from behind the other side of that kennel a dog approached meekly towards me, his head bowed, his eyes pleading. How had I not seen this dog throughout any of my other trips down these aisles?
"This is him," I announced. Everyone stared at me in disbelief. This meager, timid, skinny and scarred dog? The one that was obviously a stray and was standing by the kennel door with his head hung low? Really?
I went to get a leash from the clerk so I could take him out to the play area with the kids. He has to be good with kids. There are a lot of them at my house on any given weekend.
He walked down the hall leaning against my leg, until we got him outside. All the kids parted to make way for him to run. The timid, weak dog of a second ago took off running, jumping, and prancing around, stopping whenever he came near one of the kids to give them some love.
My ex and I stood back and watched. She laughed at his dancing and prancing and said, "That's a good dog."
"Yep," I said. "He's ours!"
Soon after, we all piled into our friend's van (she and her daughters had joined us for the occasion) and headed home. The unnamed but adorable dog didn't hesitate when he got in the van. He jumped right up on my lap, curled into a ball, and licked my hand the whole way home.