Jacob with Scooby, the only Aussie I've ever hard (several years ago, obviously)
Scooby deserves his own story--a wild hard but as sweet as he could be
A frustrating weekend dominatedby the ongoing search for the perfect dog. Last week, we met a dog named MerleHaggard—I love his name!—a medium black dog billed as a Border Collie but whatin Missouri we called a farm collie. He had been abused somewhere along the wayand the foster said is terrified of everything. Indeed he was shaking with fearwhen we entered the foster’s house, though he went quickly to her forprotection. Eventually he warmed to me enough that he would tentatively comeclose enough to take a treat from my hand. I felt so sorry for this baby, and,yes, I thought he would probably come to trust me so that I could keep himsafe. But there are enough people in and out of my cottage that he’d spend halfhis life terrified and a trip to the vet would be an ordeal for man and dog.Jordan felt so sorry for him and wanted to take him, but I told her I didn’t fallin love. Someone from the rescue agency called about our meeting, and I toldher the same. I have concluded this will probably be the last dog I have, andit has to be just the right fit. My intuition has to say to me, “This is thedog,” and I have to sense that the dog feels that way too. What makes it hardis that I swear this baby’s eyes were pleading with me.

I asked to meet another dog—anAussie mix, billed as trained, calm (if Aussies are ever calm), easy I thought.The rescue person told me he was scheduled to be shipped to a rescue farm inWashington in late April, so I thought “Good, we can meet him before then. Andif it goes well, he won’t have to be shipped.” The case work or whatever nixedthat, saying it had been in the works for a long time and the paperwork wasdone. All that, of course, is reversible to me, if their mission truly is tofind him a home. I felt like I’d hit a brick wall. The woman said they had acouple of Aussies and she’d send me something—she hasn’t.

I heard that this rescueagency—a big one—advertised a dog adoption at a dog park. When the day came,they said they didn’t have any dogs. They have hundreds in foster care. How isthis possible? The world of dog shows is a thing unto itself, and now I amfinding so is the world odf dog adoption.

Christian found a site called RescueMe (rescue me.org)—you punch in your state, the animal you’re interested in—dog,cat, bird, horse, and some odd ones. Voila! Forty-some Aussies in Texas. Ispent hours scrolling through them, marked a few as special, and landed on oneI really thought was a fit. The dog is in the Houston area, very close toColin, so he could go meet him. The dog was to have his vaccines updated and awellness check today, and then the owner said she would like to arrange ameeting. So we wait. Meantime, I do keep scrolling.

It dawned on me in the weehours of the morning that the Houston dog reminds me of the farm collie I hadin Missouri when I was oh-so-young! My brother and the man who would become myhusband were at a horse auction when a farmer came in carrying a litter of pupsin a bushel basket. They bought one for me and brought her home. Joel named herBathsheba Finkelstein, which he swore was the name of a girl he dated in theBronx. We called her Sheba.

Sheba was a wonderful dog,sweet, easily trained, I guess, because she was fine in the house, and I don’tremember doing much. She could sit in front of a six-foot fence and fly overit. She had a litter of puppies with a beautiful, purebred mahogany male colliewe had. Once, when nursing puppies, she jumped up on a counter, in my absence,and ate an entire pan of fudge. Chocolate is supposed to be lethal for dogs,but it didn’t faze Sheba. For days, when you picked up the puppies, theysmelled like chocolate. When we left Missouri, we reluctantly found her a farmhome where she could roam far and wide.

I sent a picture of thepossible dog today to an old friend from Kirksville days, and he immediatelyremarked on the resemblance. So a part of me would say that six-year-old boywas meant to be mine, but adoption people everywhere warn against such magicalthinking. We wait.