Comet

Yesterday was our seven year anniversary of adopting our beloved dog, Comet. I remember the evening; it was a Thursday and Ben picked me up in front of Queens College where I was finishing up my graduate degree in Exercise Science and Nutrition. He was driving a rented ZipCar because our puppy was in a litter being fostered in southern Connecticut. The agency, Pet Rescue, pulls dogs from kill shelters mostly in the South and brings them up to the Westchester area, where they are fostered by volunteers until adopted.

I had been begging Ben for several months to allow us to get a puppy but the time wasn’t right at first and for a short stint, we lived in a small studio in Queens where dogs were not allowed. I was going through an emotionally difficult time and desperately wanted a pet, so my mom let us temporarily foster her cat for several months. This was helpful, although it didn’t fully scratch my dog-desiring itch. For numerous reasons, the Queens apartment didn’t work out and we ultimately moved back to Harlem. This time, we landed a dog-friendly rental and I revisited the discussion. Ben, an avid dog lover, finally agreed that it could work out. I had been researching dog rescue agencies and keeping my eye out for specific dogs for several months. We didn’t have a particular breed in mind nor clearly defined desired characteristics; I was convinced I’d know the right dog when I saw her. And then I did. As soon as I happened upon Comet’s picture and short bio on Pet Rescue’s website, I was positive that she was my dog. I showed Ben, and, beginning that night, I pretended Comet was already mine. When we would ride the elevator, I would pretend she was on an invisible leash pulling me out the door. When we would walk to the subway, I would extend my arm as if she was leading the way. At night before bed, I would kiss imaginary Comet goodnight. Invisible Comet had already warmed her way into my heart. Unfortunately, we were not yet approved as viable adoptive parents according to Pet Rescue and needed to undergo their rigorous application process. I eagerly submitted the completed application, but we still had a phone interview with Katie (her foster “mom,”) a Skype tour of the apartment to verify its safety, and two references needed to call on our behalf as suitable dog owners, all while adorable Comet was up for grabs for anyone, baiting even the most cold-hearted dog hater with her adorable face. Ben was stressed. The more and more I became convinced that she was my perfect dog, the more he figured we wouldn’t be approved in time to “win” her. He also cautioned me that even if we were approved and she was still available, we should keep our mind’s open for other potential dogs, including her littermates, because you “can’t judge a dog by her photo.” I pacified him with halfhearted yeses, but inside, I knew she was my girl.

Thankfully, we worked through the hoops of the application process in an expedient fashion and were approved. (For the record, I fully believe in the need for formalized process; adopting a pet is a big responsibility.) I set up the trip to meet the foster dogs under Katie’s care and scoured Craigslist for a home crate and a travel crate. We prepared the apartment with puppy toys, the food she was used to eating, and training books.

When class let out that night, I was like a caged bird set free on her first flight. I ran to find the ZipCar and I manically chatted with Ben the whole ride about what Comet would be like and how much I would love her. When we arrived, Katie led us to the back where two litters of puppies tussled with one another. They swarmed us upon our entrance into their pen. I had a broken shoulder at the time, so I kneeled on the ground to prevent getting tangled or knocked in their play. Like a human sand pile, puppies climbed all over me and ran up and down my back and over my head. As much as I like puppies, I hate chaos and get easily overwhelmed, so I was actually fairly miserable. But then there was Comet. That sweet little girl came up somewhat gingerly. She placed her front paws on my chest and poked her neck out to smell my face, and then licked it. While puppies yipped and yelped and jumped around us, Comet and I locked eyes and connected. “That one is Comet,” said Katie. “And this is Cider, and this is Condor…” She continued to list other C-names and point to each rowdy furball. “This is her!” I said to Ben. He’s a dog magnet, so every dog loved him even more than me and he more agreeably romps and ruffles with them so he glanced over at us, said, “Are you sure?” and then fit in more puppy play time. He called her over and then engaged in spirited play and Comet seemed sold on him too.

Before we knew it, we had Comet in our new travel crate and I was sitting with her in the back of the car. For just a moment after we had pulled away from Katie’s lot, I panicked that I wouldn’t be the mom she needed or wanted and that I’d fail her. My heart started racing and I looked at her tiny little body cowering in the corner of the crate. She had seemed more energetic and spunky at Katie’s and I was worried she was overcome with sadness that we’d just pulled her from all the siblings and friends she’d ever known. She’d already lost her real mom, and I couldn’t bear thinking I was causing her more pain. I opened up the crate’s door and extended my arm inside. Little Comet was nearly trembling, but upon encountering my hand, she licked in and came to the front of the crate, nuzzling her nose through the cracked door to try and climb onto me.

From there, our bond strengthened by every hour of every day. I wasn’t working at the time, so I spent my days before class training and playing with her. She had never used a leash before, which is mandatory in Manhattan, and she wasn’t yet housetrained, so we had a lot of ground to cover. Each day was an adventure, but she was eager to please and a dedicated student.

Seven years later, a lot has changed and yet a lot remains the same. She’s still my best buddy, my companion, my sweet and loyal girl. She’s an integral cog in the Amber-Ben triad. Ben and I have moved six or seven times, held probably eight different jobs between the two of us, had several broken bones, hundreds of cries and thousands of laughs, and probably gone on enough walks with her to cover the distance across our country and back. Comet has been there for all of it. She is flexible and easy-going. She has crazy food allergies like me. She is the first to greet me every morning and it’s never with a bad mood or lackluster energy; every morning she treats me like I’m a gift, excitedly wagging, whining, and sneezing (her preferred expression of joy) when I rise. She is relentlessly loving and interested in whatever we are doing. She saved me when I didn’t want to save myself. She has been my friend when I’ve had no one to talk to. She’s taught me to be a mom and a leader, more patient and prepared. Despite all the troubles and challenges Ben and I have faced in the last seven years, it’s impossible for us to truly believe our life is unfair. We have Comet and she’s been far more than we ever dreamed she’d be.