So, about this new dog. A few days before Thanksgiving, I got a call from Stu Homer, founder of Golden State Greyhound Adoption. He had a "bounce back" that was currently in a foster home; a two and a half year old male that had been returned because the dog's apartment-dwelling owners claimed that, after 11 months, they just couldn't housetrain him, plus he didn't walk well on busy San Francisco streets. The dog had a limp, Stu said, thanks to a bad break at a Florida racetrack that occurred either playing or during a practice run, nobody knew for sure. Due to my neurological condition, Stu was aware that I also have a limp and can't walk fast or far. It was a perfect match, he said. Would I be interested?
Like he had to ask. We made arrangements to meet the next day at Stu's house, where all surrenders and adoptions take place. There, "Grant" would be returned by his foster family and handed off to me.
I fell in love instantly. The dog was jet black and by far, the tallest greyhound I've ever seen. His head came to my hipbone and at 5'9, I'm no shrinking violet.
"Where do I sign?" I asked Stu. In a few short hours, the dog I renamed Ember, inspired by his glowing brown eyes, was in his new home.
The first few days Ember didn't leave his pillow, seemingly in a state of shock, and who could blame him? Just a few days earlier he had been with the only family he had known since leaving the track. Then without warning he suddenly found himself with a foster family, and just a few days later he was in yet another strange home: mine.
But slowly, cautiously, he started to explore his new surroundings. He saw Clara use the doggie door and without hesitation, followed her through the door where he proceeded to do his business in the designated grass area, with no prompting, mind you. Five months later, Ember has never had an accident in the house. And this was the dog that couldn't be housetrained?
This was also the dog that his previous owners claimed "didn't walk well." Now bear in mind, I wear leg braces and use a cane, yet I found I was able to handle Clara and Ember easily using one hand to hold two leashes. They walked together seamlessly, belly-to-belly. I wish I could take credit for being an extraordinary trainer, but I can't because Ember adapted Just. Like. That.
As the days passed, Ember started playing with toys, playing with Clara, and playing with his new greyhound friends that we walk with every Saturday. His personality began to shine forth, a happy, playful goofy pup that was incredibly affectionate, leaning his 84-pound body against me so hard for hugs that I soon learned to make sure I had a wall in back of me for support. He and Clara became inseparable, sleeping together, riding in the car together, going on walks together, eating together. In no time, it felt like Ember had been with us forever.
But that limp. His funny gait was causing a painful corn to form on the foot of the leg he had broken and judging from his limp, I suspected he might need a boot. I called Stu for advise and he told me to bring Ember to his house and he would try different boots to determine what might be the best fit. Since I'd be preoccupied with Ember, I decided to leave Clara at home.
As we turned down Stu's street, Ember's demeanor changed. He appeared nervous. Scared. I opened the car door to let him out, but he wouldn't budge, instead tucking himself further back in the corner. And when he saw Stu? The poor dog started trembling so hard I became concerned. What the heck? And then I knew.
Every time Ember had been to Stu's house, he had been ripped from his home and moved to a new one. First the racetrack, then his home of 11 months, then his foster family of four days. The common denominator was this street. This man. Ember saw Stu and thought he was being sent away yet again. His fear was so palpable it tore my heart.
I didn't force him out of the car, instead letting him stay inside as Stu came to us to try different boots while I held my shaking dog. I talked to Ember, soothed him, told him everything was okay and he was coming back home. He leaned into me with worried eyes, offering his paw to Stu but not ever looking at him.
When we returned home, Ember bolted into the house with the same speed I imagine he'd once exhibited at the racetrack. He saw his pillow. His toys. His bed and his companion, Clara. And above all else, he saw the one most important thing, the only thing that really mattered:
My sweet boy saw his forever home.
