10/09/2025
We did not choose Otis.!!
We let our oldest dog, Thelma Lou, pick him out. She was just a puppy. We felt strongly that Thelma deserved to choose her own brother since, after all, she would be the one stuck sniffing his butt for the next 12 years.
And so it was, one summer afternoon we took Thelma to the adoption fair at the local dog rescue.
Everyone had turned out. Families galore. Parents in work uniforms, holding the hands of excited kids. Lots of glee.
We walked inside. The first thing that hit me was that powerful bouquet of puppy breath, disinfectant, and urine. The dogs were barking so loud you couldn’t think.
We had a lot of dogs to meet. Jamie and I split up to cover more ground.
Of course, I fell in love with all the sick dogs. Jamie found me holding a little dog named Amber in my arms. Amber was about the size of a Beanie Baby, underweight.
My wife told me to put her down. She reminded me this was not my decision. This was Thelma Lou’s choice.
“But,” I pointed out, “just LOOK at her.”
My wife removed the animal from my arms.
So, with Thelma on a leash, dragging me through the labyrinth of kennels, we interviewed all dogs. Thelma inspected each cage carefully. Rears were sniffed. But the multitude of butts had been found wanting.
At some point we passed Jamie, she was cradling a little white dog who was missing an ear. She was holding the puppy like a newborn, declaring her love to the animal.
“No,” I reminded her.
“But,” Jamie offered, “just LOOK at her.”
Thelma dragged me to the ends of the earth. But she found no suitors. Each puppy we encountered was either too yappy, too little, too weakly, too chill, too alpha, too excitable, or too whatever.
That’s when I noticed a pen in the back. There was a black-and-white dog inside, running around. He had floppy ears, and expressive, honey-colored eyes. He wasn’t begging anyone to take him home. He wasn’t going to play that game. He was merely playing happily by himself. Blissfully unaware of us.
Thelma Lou stopped at his kennel immediately. She was transfixed. She watched through the bars as this animal entertained himself.
Thelma started whining happily.
So the staff let Thelma Lou into the kennel. The two dogs played for a time. They ran in circles. They wrestled gaily. Things were apparently good in the butt department.
“He was found wandering the streets,” the staffer told us. “He was obviously abused, but we can’t figure out why. He’s just the nicest dog.”
He is nice. We named him Otis. He became the best behaved dog we’ve ever had. He rides shotgun with me. He hikes with me. He sits beside me and silently encourages me whenever I eat supper.
He is lying next to me right now, curled up and half sleeping. He knows I’m writing about him. I can tell.
I lift my hands from the keyboard and stroke his head. And I can’t tell who is more content this morning. Him or me.
I have buried 13 dogs in my life. Sometimes I think of them. Each dog’s death has broken me. And each time, I angrily ask God to tell me why, in His paramount wisdom, did He make canine life so brief?
Well, I have no answer. But I believe humans are put on earth to learn.
We are here to learn to live a rich life; to learn to appreciate every small blessing from On High; and above all, to learn to love unconditionally.
Dogs already know how to do these things. So maybe they don’t need to live as long.
All credit goes to the respective owner
