Last Monday, my friend Regan and I had plans to go to the Chicago Field Museum. We both had the day off and the museum is free this month - it was a no-brainer. Except for the fact that we hadn’t considered it was a no-brainer for the rest of the city of Chicago, too. There was no parking when we got there and the museum was packed. It was cold and rainy and as we tried to figure out what else to do, I said “what if we went to get me a dog instead?”
“Really?,” Regan replied.
“I think I’m only kind of kidding.”
We went through the pros and cons of me getting a dog and couldn’t really think of any cons. So, we looked up animal shelters in the city and headed over to PAWS Chicago. We texted and FaceTimed some of our friends in New York to tell them what I was about to do and we sifted through the note on my phone that held all of the potential dog names I’ve collected over the years.
When we got there, we walked through the dog section of the shelter and took note of a few dogs I wanted to meet. “This is kind of crazy” must have come out of my mouth at least 20 times while we were at the shelter.
I’ve been wanting a dog for years and it was only now that I felt fully financially and lifestyle stable enough to actually get one. It was a very well-thought out, spontaneous decision!
As I talked to the volunteers at the shelter about what my lifestyle is like and what dogs I wanted to meet, they quickly steered me away from most of the dogs I had taken note of. They then made a couple of recommendations for a few different dogs, but when they would bring out those dogs’ files there was some sort of behavioral issue or lifestyle requirement I couldn’t accommodate:
“Velveeta is crazy high energy.”
“Bowie is scared of men.”
“Biscoff needs to live with another dog, and can’t live in an apartment.”
I was reassured that they get new dogs in every day and was ready to leave when one of the volunteers walked up and said, “We have one more in the back named Quest who I think might be a good fit. Let me go check his file.”
He walked away and Regan and I looked at each other and started laughing. One more in the back? What was this? Shoe shopping? “He’s got a clean file.” I agreed to meet him.
As Regan and I sat in the meeting room, I was spiraling a bit internally. Was I ready to take on being responsible for another living being? I need to make sure I’m not settling for a dog I don’t actually want just because I want a dog. What would life really look like with a dog?
Quest came in with Len the volunteer (truly the greatest man to guide you through picking a dog) and slowly walked over to me. I squatted down and he immediately jumped up and started giving me kisses. He didn’t know how to sit, definitely didn’t know his name, and was a little matted and stinky. I honestly don’t even remember what Len was saying to me, but as he talked and I spent more time petting Quest and giving him treats, I got more comfortable with the idea of bringing him home. “I think he’s the one.”
As I filled out a slew of paperwork and waited to get paired with an adoption counselor, Regan went to get Chipotle to grab some dinner and, for the first time, I was left alone with the decision I was making. I was anxious, but I wanted to do it.
“He doesn’t know his name, so please change it. Quest is a terrible name.” That was the first thing my adoption counselor said to me. I laughed and agreed that I would - I was planning to anyway. She talked me through the transition, explained his first vet visit, and answered any questions I had. “There’s a Petco across the street - do you need to pop over there before you take him home?”
Regan came back and we headed across the street. My brain was so jumbled, I could hardly think of what I needed to buy. “This is so crazy,” I kept saying over and over to Regan as I led us aimlessly through the store. She had to leave for a workout class and I stood in Petco motionless for a moment to collect myself. It wasn’t too late to go back and tell them I’d made a mistake and that I’d come back another day once I was more prepared. But, something in me told me not to. I had committed to this dog and I was going to do it.
I finished buying everything I needed and headed back to pick him up. We took a photo and I walked him to my car - I was now fully responsible for a dog. I renamed him Chicken.
That was exactly a week ago as I write this. Almost down to the minute and, honestly, things have gone so much better than I could have ever imagined. He is such a sweetheart and eager to learn and so curious. He does so many stereotypically dog things - he loves to play fetch, he picks up sticks to carry with him on our walks, and he howls along with ambulance sirens if one drives by while we’re outside.
The name? I think it’s cute to name dogs after other types of animals and Chicken is always one that’s stuck out to me. I had decided on that name before we even got to the shelter - whatever dog I came home with was going to be named Chicken, but this name is scarily fitting for the dog I ended up with. He has somehow scruffy and fluffy fur that can look almost like feathers at times. Whenever he lays down he goes full sploot, making his butt look like a roast chicken. His favorite toy is a stuffed chicken that squeaks.
He’s got a little bit to learn before I can really call him perfect (like learning how to deal with the first few minutes I’m gone without whining in his crate), but - to me - he’s pretty damn close.
Write ya next Tuesday!
Hi Emma - Chicken is so cute! How nice :)
I love this. And Chicken is adorable!!