Not quite 8 weeks old, Rusty joined our family on April 2, 2024, when I was still reeling in the fresh grief of having lost my chickens in a barnyard massacre. I didn’t adequately let Time temper my impulses. You need a dog! people said when I told how five of my six chickens had been killed. In truth, I was doubting that I would really ever get chickens again, but that didn’t seem to slow my next move which was to look for a dog. A dog to protect the chickens. A dog because my mom wanted a dog. A dog because it had been more than a year since our Ginger had died and I missed the unique companionship of a dog. I could feel the danger of a slippery slope as I started clicking around online and I said to David, I need to talk to my counselor ASAP. Knowing, and patient as ever, he grinned and agreed.
I kept clicking.
And too soon (before talking to my counselor), I found a litter of golden retrievers (1/8 Rottweiler) available from a couple young men, brothers, in Canby. David and I went to “see”. And came home with this one.
Are you mad?!? asked a friend when I texted her what I had done. She tracks along with my life and had valid reason to wonder.
There were many many many times in the next weeks that I said through tears or exasperation, I hate him I hate him I hate him. I was navigating so much emotional anguish and responsibility on a variety of fronts at that time (and still) and the last thing I needed was a baby. But I had got myself a baby.
I was angry - angry at myself for being impulsive. Angry at the loss of the chickens, which brought the possibility of getting a dog into my view. Angry at David for not telling me no (he’s way smarter than that). Angry at the context of my life which holds so many things that have been really hard to navigate.
A few days after bringing the puppy home, I got around to that appointment with my counselor and asked - what would you have told me? She (who has tracked with me for a very long time now, and who loves dogs) took a pause and gently said, I would have asked you why you wanted a dog right now. And then I would have suggested a 4 year old dog. She was right. But there was no going back.
We had trouble settling on a name for the puppy. Since he came to us while we were still grieving the violent loss of our chickens, we tried several aspirational names on themes of healing — imagining that this new creature would be the bringer of light and joy to our sad hearts.
In spite of my periodic meltdowns over having got myself a baby dog, the puppy did indeed bring light and joy. My mother was especially pleased with him. She’s had a dog or two throughout much her lifetime and it was good to see her enjoy that companionship again.
One morning, not long after he’d come to live with us, puppy and I went out to the backyard to do business. I was looking at a tree by our pond which was in gorgeous bloom and I wondered if I could identify it with my phone camera app. I was aware of the dog behind me as I balanced on the rocks at the edge of the swampy pond and stepped closer to snap my shot —
PLUNK.
I turned to see puppy coming back to the surface and then laughed to see him go on and swim a lap because — once in, might as well make the most of it, he seemed to say.
There’s a delightful dog named Harry who is the main character in a series of picture books that our family has enjoyed for years — my dad read them to me and my siblings when we were growing up, and I read them to my boys. As I scooped my puppy out of the pond that morning, I thought of this scene from Harry By The Sea —
Eventually we stopped trying lofty ideal names on the puppy — we kept landing back on “Good Boy” — and leaned into the obvious: Rusty. The Farm Dog.
As the year went by, he grew and grew and grew and grew. We’ve often joked at how we might better have called him Clifford, after The Big Red Dog. But Rusty the Farm Dog suits him perfectly.
When David and I stood amongst that litter of puppies one year ago today and wondered which to bring home with us, the brothers who offered them for sale pointed at our Rusty and said - if you want a gentle lover, he’s your guy.
Happy Gotcha Day, Rusty Roo. I may not have been doing my best thinking a year ago, but we’ve hung together and I am grateful for the very many ways you have brought and do bring light and joy to our family. Thanks for being here and loving us.
Sometimes we get what we need even if it’s a long road to get there. Glad Rusty is yours.
I love this--the pics, the "Harry By the Sea" pages, your vulnerability--all of it, thank you.