Meant To Be

It all began on a Saturday, not unlike any other.  My husband and I had been out shopping and I suggested we swing by the local animal shelter.

Now, this had been an issue of some debate in our household.  Dale is a cat person and while I adore our cats, they were our "kids", I truly longed for a dog and had wanted one for all of the five years we had been together.  I could get him to watch and enjoy the Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show, Sporting Dog Trials on ESPN, go to canine events like Flyball and Agility and even occasionally go to the shelter, but I just couldnt get him to agree to a dog living in our home. 

So I figured when I suggested visiting the pound, I would get the big sigh, eye roll, "Not today," but to my surprise, he said, "Sure, why not."

There, in the first pen, sitting ever so quietly amidst the noise and chaos, wagging the tip of her tail (which was all there) was the most adorable red-tri Australian Shepherd puppy I had ever seen. 

Some months before, I had fallen in love with a friends red merle Aussie named Flea.  The devotion in his eyes had me hooked on the breed.  Aussies eyes seem to say, "What can I do for you, mow the lawn, get you a Latte.  Just ask and I will give you all I can.  Oh, and could you just give me a little scratch behind my ear before I go!"  This little girl had that look that I so loved.  I fell deeply in love in that first moment.  My husband was even impressed with her calm and attentive manner amidst all the pandemonium. 

Too soon after our all to brief meeting I was leaving.  She had another five days before she was available, in case her owner came to get her.  I was sure she would go, who would not want their 3-month-old pup back.  I figured some little kid was surely missing their puppy.  She was too cute to not have a home, but I held out hope.

Every day for the next four days I stopped by to see if she was still there, I even called at least once a day too.  She was still there, waiting in pen number 1-11.

The morning of the fifth day came.  I was up early for me; I could not sleep, even though the pup was not available until 1:20 that afternoon.  My husband asked what my plans were for the day.  We talked about dinner and that Id need to go shopping and although Id never actually said Id been checking on the dog, I knew that he knew and I told him that he kind-of determined what my real plans would be that day. 

I could instantly see his irritation.  "Where will we keep it, he asked.  "In the kennel that came with the house," I replied.  "Who will care for it," he inquired.  "I will," I had broken my leg a couple of months before and was still recovering, "Im home all day, I have time.  Ill clean up all her messes you wont have to do a thing for her."  I was beginning to feel like a ten-year-old.  "What will we feed it," he challenged.  "Dog Food!" I quipped a bit too sarcastically. 

That was it, the final straw, he put his foot down and simply said, "No, Its just more than I want to deal with right now."  I could not believe it.  Couldnt he see how badly I wanted her?  I began to cry, he tried to comfort me and explain further, but I could not stand to be anywhere near him right then.  I asked him to go to work; I wanted to suffer my heartbreak (and self-pity) alone.  He had said no and I would respect his wishes, but I could not do it with any grace. 

A short time later my girlfriend Barb called, the one with Flea, I broke down and told her the whole story.  She sympathized and said she thought I should just go get the dog, but I told her I could not break my husbands trust like that, and she understood.  We agreed to get together later that day. 

In all the emotional upset, I had completely forgotten what Dale had wanted for dinner.  He was working in a nearby town so I decided to swing by his job, not an uncommon thing for me to do, and ask him what he wanted for dinner.  I swore to myself that I would mention nothing of the mornings events, especially the dog, just get his request for dinner and go.

When I got to his job, he greeted me and asked what was up.  I asked simply and without disdain, that I had forgotten what he wanted for dinner and since I had to go shopping anyway I might as well stop by and see if he had any special requests.  He said he wanted steak and mushrooms with what ever I wanted as a side and at the end he added, "What time is that dog available?"  I thought to myself, how dare he torture me like this, "1:20 this afternoon," I sighed.  "Well then, youd better get going if youre going to get her," he said.  My eyes opened wide; "You mean it!" I replied.  "Yes," he answered, "Go and get her.  And may the doggie gods be with you!"

My mind raced into high gear.  I called Barb on my cell phone and told her the great news.  She said to come and get her and she would go with me.  By the time, I picked her up and got to the pound it was about ten to one.  The pup was still there; I was so relieved, only to find out that there were two other people there to get her too. 

            How could they know what I had gone through to be there that day, the hoping, the yearning, the emotional turmoil?  Oh, the thought of not getting her after all that was heart wrenching.

I spoke with the man who was there and he said his wife had sent him down to get the pup.

The other person there was a woman, with a six-month-old baby, who wanted them to grow up together.

I was up against a guy who didnt seem to care whether he got the pup or not and a lady who didnt seem to know what she was getting into having a baby and a puppy at the same time.

At 1:20 p.m., we all waited at the adoption counter.  There was to be a lottery. (I have no luck in lotteries.)  Each of us were given a poker chip with a number of our choosing and an identical chip was placed in a coffee can.  Barb decided to take a chip just in case.  I picked chip number four.  It has been a good number for me as far as my luck goes. 

As they were drawing the chip, I had already given up.  I was almost in tears again.  There was no way they were ever going to draw my number.  I was so deeply involved in my own thoughts that I did not even hear them call it, "Number Four," the shelter worker said.

Barb grabbed my arm, "Number four they said!"

"Number FOUR!" I exclaimed, and the almost fallen tears of doubt, began to stream down my face as tears of joy.

I had never wanted anything so deeply in all my life and now she was finally mine!  I was congratulated by the other adopters and promptly filled out the paperwork.  I had not even got to touch her other that through the chain link gate and when they put her in my arms and she licked my face, I never felt so rich!

Barb suggested that I name her Four after all that, but I decided that I would let Dale have the honor off naming her.  I printed a long list of names of the Internet and after reading through it, he decided on Phoebe.  I asked if we could change the spelling to Fibi to incorporate the number four somehow.  He agreed.

Today Fibi is Three years old.  She is since registered with the AKC under an ILP and has attained a FDCh (Flyball Dog Champion) in Flyball and her CGC (Canine Good Citizen), with many more titles to come I am sure.  She is her Moms #1 treasure and above all, (yes, he absolutely adores her, sometimes I think more than I do) she is the Apple of her Daddys eye!