Six weeks ago, I was almost thrown in jail.
After days of hardly any sleep, I had Zora out on a walk and I really needed her to pee because we were going out to dinner for few hours. After walking around for ten minutes, she finally squats and begins her business.
From a parked car just behind us an unattended little girl starts walking toward us saying, “Can I pet your dog?” Over and over. I held up my hand and said, “Ah, ah, stop” to the young menace. Unfazed by a strange dog and even stranger man, she kept coming. Of course Z looked back, lost focus and didn’t pee.
Holy shit, I’ve never been so close to punching a seven year old in the face.
For the last year or so, we’ve been talking about the idea of possibly maybe starting to think about adopting another dog. Translation: Maria being unsure, but open to the idea and me freaking out and closing all doors. But the last couple months I’d been thinking about it a lot and what it came down to was fear.
Afraid I couldn’t love another dog, afraid of the responsibility, and maybe the dumbest was a weird fear of feeling like I wasn’t being loyal to Jack in some way. All this coupled with the yes-no-taffy-pull of emotional ambivalence, 15 years of memories, and the responsibility of adopting again.
It’ll be four years in October and I still haven’t been able to write about Jack.
Her name is Zora. Like a lady Zorro but spelled with only one R because in Spanish zorra means “slut or vixen.” Plus, it’s more exotic which matches her looks. She’s not your standard pretty, she has a more unusual beauty. She’s a Stumpy Tail Australian Cattle Dog mix from the big west-side Phoenix dog pound– a.k.a. The Saddest Place on Earth. Doggy Jail.
She loves people, other dogs are hit and miss. She only needed four days to understand peeing outside, three nights to sleep in her bed all night, and she’s very prey driven. She’s getting a little stir crazy in our 2 bed condo, but we’re looking for a new place with a yard. She’s a challenging little sweetheart. Here we go on a new adventure with another hairy family member.
*Of course I’m joking about punching the kid, don’t be ridiculous.