Sara –
I wanted to say a belated “thank you” for letting Sofia and I stay with you and Stacy when we got our puppy. I like to think of myself as a grateful guest, so it’s incredibly embarrassing for me to look at the calendar and see how late I am in sending this thank you. It doesn’t typically take me eighteen months to let someone know I appreciated their hospitality.
As you know, I've only ever had cats, or wanted cats. I never wanted a dog, let alone a puppy. But Sofia was desperate for one. She’d told me on our first date she wanted a dog someday. Someday seemed far enough away not to worry about it. I always disqualified myself from pet ownership due to my touring schedule. I stalled for years. Then Covid hit. I gave in. I agreed to a rescue, an older dog, something under twenty pounds Sofia could fly with and take to work. But there were no dogs, of any size, or any age. Everyone had the same thought we had. We applied and were denied or ignored by every shelter and agency within 100 miles. “Dogs are the new toilet paper,” someone we knew joked. Then a friend texted Sofia and me. There was a litter of puppies. The runt, a girl, was available. Did we want her? We did. As the text whooshed away, my insides coiled in anxiety.
We were sent only one photo of our new puppy to show everyone. She was barely two months old, atop a dirty crate, in what looked like a junkyard. A German Shepherd wearing a Border Collie costume is how I described her. We named her Georgia, an homage to our family there.
You and I were on a family vacation together on the Sunshine Coast and you and Stacy suggested that we bring our new puppy to your house after we picked her up. Stay a few weeks, you guys offered over dinner one night. Maybe prescient is too grandiose a word for the foresight you both had when it came to offering your guest suite and backyard, but as Sofia and I had prepared exhaustingly for Georgia’s arrival, we knew potty training was going to be our first big hurdle with our new puppy. Sofia and I had a two bedroom apartment in the city, on the tenth floor, in a neighborhood not always friendly to people, let alone people taking a puppy out a dozen times a day to search for green space to pee and poop on. Your aesthetically pleasing mid century bungalow in North Vancouver, with its wide back lawn and separate garden suite, seemed like the ideal place to ride out potty training. We accepted your offer without hesitation.
When Sofia and I picked up our new puppy a week later from Mission, BC, she smelled like pee. As we drove the hour back to Vancouver, our car's GPS navigating us to your house, Georgia's warm body in my lap, my hands cupping her white paws, I felt like abandoning her and Sofia. Though I didn’t say that out loud. Instead of feeling attached to Georgia, I felt repulsed. Sofia looked terrified too, which brought both relief and more anxiety. I prepared a statement, while Sofia drove, a list of reasons to give her back.
But I felt better when we arrived at your house. You and Stacy seemed so excited. Stacy dragged a stick out from your garden and twisted it in the grass for Georgia to chase. We sat outside all afternoon, the four of us, and Georgia. I felt shell shocked, and I think Georgia did too; she stuck close to my legs, sleeping in my lap, her four furry limbs dangling in the sun. You guys had dinner plans that night, so Sofia and I ate in the suite, just the two of us. Well, the three of us. Georgia slept at our feet under the table, and I remember brazenly stating that we were doing so well. Having a puppy was fun! The anxiety I’d felt earlier started to dissipate.
Georgia’s calm lifted like a fog on day two. Sofia had to work, so I hung out in the yard, and watched the dog tear up the lawn, barking whenever someone new came in the gate to visit. She always wanted to play when I needed to work.
You shouted words of encouragement from your back deck, as I tried to use the same stick Stacy had found to lure Georgia to walk next to me on her leash. Night two, she whined in the crate, it’s metal bars next to the bed felt like a prison I was in, and I worried we were keeping you up, as your room was just above us. Day three, Mom told me that dog pee kills the grass, so we started carrying Georgia to the gravel at the side of the house. That afternoon Georgia peed on the floor in your suite. “We got cocky,” I remember Sofia telling Stacy, who’d been over visiting when it happened. Though you and Stacy continued to be encouraging, positive and affirming, Sofia and I started to whisper about maybe going home to our apartment in the city on day four. We were terrified Georgia would ruin something in your house, and your cats seemed a little stressed by the puppy in the backyard. Mostly I think I just wanted to go home. I longed for my old life, the one I’d left behind a few days earlier. The one where it was just the two of us, me, and Sofia. You and Stacy were understanding when we said we were leaving less than a week into our planned two week stay. “We need to get used to going downstairs a zillion times a day,” I told you both. Georgia would have to get used to the elevator at our apartment, and we’d have to suck it up eventually, so why not on day six? Sofia took all our stuff back to the apartment in her car, and mom drove me and Georgia home after I finished cleaning the guest suite.
You were outside, watering the plants and bushes, using your leaf blower to clear debris, power washing the deck when I loaded everything out and said goodbye. It’s a good quality, being orderly and clean, one that suits you. I’ve always been quite neat and organized myself. I like order. Routine. I think living in your immaculate world those six days was hard because it was a constant reminder that I’d never have that again. At least not while Georgia was alive. I envied your sanctuary, your quiet life, your cats.
Back in the city Sofia and I learned there were things much harder than potty training we’d have to face because of Georgia, and much quicker than we thought too. As you know, Sofia and I are very independent, we don’t over communicate with each other, we like to work long hours, and be free of distractions. We didn’t know it, but we’d invited a third into our relationship. A third who needed a lot of attention, a third who demanded and inspired a lot of communication between us. A third who was nothing but distractions. Georgia imploded the life we had spent six years building, making the last year and a half a challenge. As you know. But at least when Georgia peed on the cement floor that first night we brought her home from your house, it was our floor, our home.
Now I apologize too for the length of this letter. All I meant to really say was thank you. I imagine you haven’t harbored any ill will or resentment about the late thank you, as you have seen first hand how overwhelmed and singularly focused I’ve been when it comes to Georgia these past eighteen months. Someone recently sent me this, was it you? Nonetheless I feel like I owe you and Stacy a thank you and an apology, So please accept both and pass this on to Stacy too.
Oh! Should you ever decide to get a dog, call me first to talk through it. Should you still decide to get one anyway, know that you’re always welcome to come to our house on the Island to potty train. Now that you got rid of your big house and backyard we are happy to host you at ours anytime, dog or no dog.
Love,
Tegan
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