From Stray to Stay

I have heard the saying, “Dogs are a man’s best friend” hundreds of times throughout my life, and I never questioned the validity of the statement, but I did not think that declaration would ring true for me. I will be the first to tell you, I am a cat person at heart. I have always had trouble bonding with dogs. My father says it’s because I don’t make a fuss over them. He’s right. I don’t mean to gravitate towards cats—I love all animals-- but cats are more easygoing and require less upkeep than dogs. They also vibrate when they’re happy, which is an adorable bonus for me. Though I already had two cats at home, something—someone—was missing… a dog. The feeling of adopting an animal in need and giving it a warm, loving home is euphoric to me. It puts me on cloud nine every time, which explains why I wanted another four-legged friend so badly despite my preference for cats. Also, I had major surgery on my right leg in the summer of ’13 that left me unable to walk on my own for several months. As motivation, my parents promised me we could get a dog if I learned how to walk again. Walking without assistance AND a new furry friend? I couldn’t think of a better deal if I tried! Slowly but surely, I began to walk again, and soon enough we were headed to the nearest animal shelter.

On August 1st, 2013, three days before my 12th birthday, my mom, dad, and I stepped foot into a building full of homeless animals. We looked around for a bit, and my mom wanted every dog she saw, but I wasn’t satisfied with just any hound. While I was observing the animals, a scrawny, scarred pup with copper fur caught my eye. I was instantly intrigued by her, but a blonde lady was bent down petting and talking to her, so I thought the woman was going to adopt her. I stalled a bit until the lady said to the dog, “I wish I could take you home!” and moved on to another needy pooch. Mentally, I celebrated because I then knew that the blonde woman was not going to adopt the dog I wanted. Her shelter name was Ariel, which we later shortened to Ari, and she clicked with us instantly. She was shy and probably scared, of course, but she was a gentle giant and a nice walker with a calm disposition. My family approved of her as well. The three of us sat in the adoption office filling out paperwork when, not even ten minutes after signing the last paper, another employee came into the room and said someone else was interested in Ari. They were too late. She was ours!

On the ride home, I was buzzing with excitement. We had noticed that our new dog was not responding to the name she was given by the animal shelter employees, so I suggested, “What about Ari?” My parents liked that name and it seemed like Ari did too. The ride home was a short one, but it is one of the best memories I have with her. With her paws resting against the side of the car door, she peered out the window and watched the moving cars pass by.

Before we went to the rescue, my mom declared one rule: no dogs on the furniture. As soon as Ari stepped foot into our house, that rule went out the window. She jumped up on the couch immediately. My parents sighed as they realized this poor pup had been in the shelter for two whole months without a plush place to lay, and they decided to let that useless rule slide. Judging by how fast she hopped on the couch, we assumed she had lived in someone’s home before being dragged to the shelter. The Animal Friends employee we met with said she ran away from her previous owner(s). We never knew why until a couple years later my dad accidentally burned something while using the oven and the kitchen filled with smoke. Ari instantly began shaking uncontrollably and begged to go outside where it wasn’t smoky. We assumed she ran away from a fire in her previous “life,” which explained the intense quivering when exposed to smoke and the scar above her right eye.

Ari was three years old when we adopted her, and the more my family and friends got to know her, the more our hearts were captivated by her. Everyone, and I mean everyone, loved her. Some even wanted to take her home for themselves! In my eyes, she was as close to perfect as a dog could get, although she did have a couple flaws like tugging on her leash or being overprotective by barking at my parents whenever they tried to yell at me (which, to me, isn’t the worst flaw an animal could have). No dog could be 100% perfect. No human could either, so why should we hold animals to that unfair standard?

Ari and I had been through so much the next seven years together. A new cat, various dogs and puppies going through our house every couple months (because we could never find one that was right for us the way Ari was), and a global pandemic.

During the lockdown, I decided it was the “ideal” time to get the remaining surgery I needed on my left leg—the same surgery I had gotten on my right leg a couple months before adopting Ari seven years ago. We, my parents and I, were in a rush to get to the hospital on the morning of the rescheduled surgery date, so I quickly said goodbye to the dog and cats and we were on our way. I don’t even remember the last time I saw her.

After the surgery, I was admitted to a short-term rehabilitation facility for two months. During my hospital stay, Ari passed away. She had never shown any signs of sickness until the morning of her death. We thought she was a happy, healthy dog. The vets did various tests and found that she had stomach cancer—the silent killer. The vet advised against taking her back home because of how sick she was. My dad had to make a life-changing decision in a matter of minutes: to put our beloved dog down so that she would not be in any more pain, or to send her home to die a slow and painful death over the next couple days. He bravely decided that euthanasia was the best option for Ari, even though he knew it would break our hearts. I never got to say goodbye.

I don’t blame my dad for his decision, I would have done the same thing if I had been in his position. I just wish I had gotten to hug her one more time and tell her I love her. For days after I heard the news, I imagined myself tracing my finger along her darling face, and, for a moment, I felt better. Until I realized she would no longer be at the door ready to greet me when I came home. I miss her terribly, so much that it physically hurts some days, but she comes to visit me in my dreams sometimes. I have been working through the grief, and, honestly, the only reason I am writing this is because I’m hoping that sharing this story with people will help me process the loss and to honor her memory. This prompt also forced me to reminisce on the positive memories I had with my pup that I have otherwise been avoiding thinking about. I don’t know where this story will rank, or if I strayed too far from the prompt, I just hope my story of a friendly, happy-go-lucky pooch that changed my life will resonate with someone out there. Although Ari is gone, she will never be forgotten. I have many regrets about how I favored the cats over her and how I don’t remember the last interaction I had with her. Most of all, I regret not appreciating her enough when she was alive because now it is too late. You may think the people you love will still be here tomorrow, or in the morning when you wake up, but the truth is, no one is promised tomorrow. Death can happen at any time, randomly, with no rhyme or reason. Ari’s death has taught me not to take anyone or anything for granted, and to appreciate what you have while you still have it. Unfortunately, I learned this lesson too late.