Chloe's taught me about love and patience. I don't think she's taught me about responsibility because I'm not irresponsible. I mean, when I smoke my crack pipe, I make sure Chloe gets only two hits.
A coincidence, I'm sure, that "dog" is "God" spelled backward. But I think dogs have godlike qualities: They teach us about unconditional love, forgiveness, patience, embracing life for the moment, true family.
I adopted Chloe from the Utah Animal Adoption Center, which got Chloe from the West Jordan animal shelter. The West Jordan shelter staff found her wandering the streets alone,
around Christmastime 2010. Her hair was matted, icicles clung to her. She was thin. The good people at the Utah Animal Adoption Center noticed her happy personality beneath the fear and dejection.
They can only rescue dogs based on available space. Luckily they had space for Chloe, who they called "Ariel."
Chloe is believed to have been a breeding dog. People, especially little girls, love small white dogs. Their parents will pay hundreds for a small white puppy. So Chloe probably gave birth to at least two liters of children before she was kicked out of the breeding place either because she was giving birth to stillborns or because she couldn't produce milk.
Poor lil girl. The people at the Utah Animal Adoption Center shaved her hair to get rid of the matts and icicles. They spayed her and started treating her for a nasty cough she had picked up. She was rather ugly.
But when I was at the shelter, watching her, she ran right toward my mom, tail wagging. She was hamming it up, big-time. My mom of course was so flattered and impressed by her personality. My mom was laughing so hard at how she got in the middle of fights between other dogs, growled at boy dogs if they got too close and lapped down water.
We'd had small dogs before, but their personalities were nothing like Chloe's. About 18 months before, little Max, also a poodle-bichon mix, had died. I wasn't looking for a puppy when I met Chloe. My sister, who was looking for a dog for herself, had come across Chloe and had told me about her. I decided to meet her. I had made it clear to my mom that I wasn't committing to her. Just checking her out.
It had been a hard week. I was unemployed and had been rejected by four companies.
My mom thought Chloe would cheer me up. I wasn't sure whether I was ready for a dog. She promised to pay for everything while I was unemployed. She said that if I was ever unable to care for Chloe, she'd take her in.
I still wasn't sure. I've made impulsive purchases in the past, but not of a breathing, living being I've known for 15 minutes. I wanted to take the weekend to think about it.
"HOW CAN YOU SAY NO TO THIS FACE?????" my other said with Chloe on her lap.
Of course she'd say that. My mom has always been more of an impulsive buyer than I. My mother also noticed that other families were at the recuse center looking for dogs. It was Martin Luther King Day weekend and the place was busy. She was afraid Chloe would be gone by the time I returned.
"If she's gone next week, then she's with another family and it was meant to be," I said.
My mom pressed me. She believed it was fate because Jan. 15 is the birthday of her late husband. She believed that Steve put Chloe into our lives for a reason.
I finally said yes.
I love that bumper sticker that says, "Who saved who?"
I once bought it, but the bad grammar — it should say "Who saved whom?" — irked me and I returned it.
But I think the bumper sticker illustrates an important point about dog ownership. Moving to Wyoming and adjusting to my new life has been harder some days than others. Sometimes, when I'm going to bed, I feel overwhelmed and the only thing I can be thankful for Chloe.
Chloe is bursting with life and energy. Even though she's either 3 or 4 years old, according to vet estimates, she still acts like a pup.
I'm amazed when I think that she was a mother. She had children! I've never had children!
"What kind of mother were you?" I ask her.
"Were you hyper with your children?"
Chloe and I always pray for her kids — wherever they may be.
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