Snap Moments
I believe that in life, there are certain instances called "snap moments."
It is through these specific, singular events, that with time we can look back on as decisions or choices or random happenings that changed everything. Some snap moments are loud and crashing, with noticeable significance. Others are softer and sneak up on us, and it's not until much later that we realize what that fraction in the timeline of our lives really meant to the bigger picture.
Choosing Bill was one of my snap moments.
Ten days ago, on a cloudy Saturday, I didn't leave my bed for fourteen hours. On the surface, I was nursing a stressful, long week with endless Netflix and delivery food. But if you wanted to dig a little deeper, I just honestly didn't have the energy or desire to deal with the world. After a month of undesirable outcomes (academically, socially, romantically, and even legally), there was nothing left in my tank. I was having my own little pity party, and truthfully, I was enjoying every second of it.
By about 4pm, I had hit my afternoon lull and decided I would watch a little "EllenTube," a site filled with moments and special features from the Ellen Degeneres show. Nothing like videos of celebrities getting scarred and clips of four-year-olds twirling plates while riding around on a unicycle to keep you entertained in bed for a couple more hours.
I stumbled upon an episode where a lady from my hometown of Chicago noticed a homeless woman without shoes sitting on a street corner on a cold winter night. From my own experience, I know how easy it is to ignore the homeless, even when it's right in front of you. Look the other way. Put your head down. Tell yourself it's not your responsibility.
But the woman on Ellen's couch decided to stop. She gave the homeless woman not only her hat and coat, but the shoes off her own feet.
I suddenly became paralyzingly aware of how self-involved I was being in that very moment. That I needed to do something. That it was time for me to get out of this funk and make a difference. Remembering my friend Mary who had a great experience fostering a dog in the fall, I decided that could be a good short-term commitment that would help me feel better about myself. Oh, and I would be helping the animal out too.
Buddy
I was by no means a "Dog Person" (yes, they are a proper noun and breed of their own), but I had a dog growing up my entire life. His name was Buddy. He was the sweetest little Shih Tzu. Never barked. Never met a stranger. Never was very smart. We loved him like he was not a pet, but a member of our family himself. He had died last October after fighting the Asian Dog Flu for five exhausting months (yes, it's a thing). Even at the end, he was giving kisses to the doctors and my Mom before they put him to sleep. She was the only one strong enough to be with him in the room. Our family grieved. Our family had a snap moment.
Just "Bill"
I texted Mary for more information, and she directed me to the Greenville Humane Society Facebook page, which featured an album of animals available to foster. One after another, I saw energetic and cuddly puppies with bright eyes begging to be chosen. All were clean shaven, between two and five months old, and had endearing pet names like "Buddy" and "Chance."
Then, there was Bill.
Yep. Just "Bill."
That was a snap moment.
I honestly don't know if it was my Christian guilt to love the seemingly unlovable, pure insanity, or a combination of both, but I hesitantly emailed a foster coordinator about Bill's availability.
Five emails and 24 hours later, I was en route to the Greenville Humane Society with my friend, Cate, in tow for wrangler duties (should the dog be a squirmer) and moral support (should I be a squirmer).
"So, why did you pick the ugly one again?" asked Cate.
"I don't know…he seemed like he's had a rough go and I guess I sort of connected with him? I just felt really sad looking at him, and…yeah I don't know," was all I had to give her.
"Looks like he's only got three legs," said Cate as she examined the Facebook photo on her iPhone. She flashed her teeth the same way people do in movies when they see a car wreck or a nerd get turned down by the cheerleader after asking her to the prom.
"Yeah…it kinda seems like it doesn't it."
What had I gotten myself into.
"I Still Can't Believe It"
Walking into the shelter, we were surrounded by noises coming from animals of all kinds, shapes, and sizes. Barks echoed loudly against the concrete floors and metal cages, and I quickly felt over-sensitized by all the commotion. I walked over to the front desk, coughed a little to get the receptionist's attention, and when she looked up, I awkwardly whispered, "Uhm, hi, eh, I'm Lauren, you see, uh, I'm here to foster Bill? Like, the dog?"
She giggled at me, gave the same grimace as Cate had before in the car, and said she would go find a foster manager in the back.
Eventually, Cate and I were led by Ashley (a cute blonde with nail scratches up and down her exposed forearms) through glass doors into a back office filled with cramped cubicles, pictures of puppies with new parents, and a distinct odor of poorly covered up "accidents." It was a strange environment, as though it were the place where hopefulness and accepted defeat met.
I absentmindedly signed off on a few sheets of paperwork and nodded along pretending I could follow the long names and dosage amounts of doggie medication I was entrusted to administer, having proven my care-giver abilities only by (A) breathing and (B) being able to write my name. "I still can't believe it," Ashley laughed to herself as she finished filing my forms. "I mean…no one ever has wanted to foster Bill. College kids want the cute puppies…but Bill? Ha! We still can't believe it." She smiled and shook her head at me before heading toward the back to retrieve my reject of a dog. I was left to wonder if she was impressed with my *sacrificial generosity* or laughing at the miserable week she knew I had lying ahead of me. There wasn't too much time for reflection though, because after a couple seconds I heard the pitter-patter of four (Yes! Four!) fully functioning paws headed my way.
Bill Was Ugly
Bill was ugly.
I mean, he was not cute. At all.
His hair was patched in different lengths, sprouting all over his body. His nails were so long they crossed over one another and got caught when he would walk. Although he had all four legs, his back-right one had a limp so he hobbled around without any sort of center of gravity. And, my God, he smelled.
You know that little squirrel from Ice Age who could desperately use a Xanax? Identical.
Bill hid under the desk chair for five minutes. Then, when I finally got him out the door, he hid under my car for ten more. I found myself laying on the pavement of the Humane Society parking lot, trying to coerce this being, that I was not fully convinced was entirely canine, to come out and be my friend. I thought doing a good deed like this was supposed to better me as a person, not make me regress into an absolute lunatic.
After we finally got Bill inside the vehicle, he was in awe. With his back paws in Cate's lap and his front on the dash, Bill stared out the front window without fear, almost as if he was flying. We soon realized that he had probably never seen the world through a car before, and he wanted to take it all in.
A pit stop at PetSmart on the way home left us with a fresh leash and collar (which Bill hated), a water and food bowl (which Bill hated), and a hedgehog squeaky toy (which is to date Bill's best friend and number one confidant).
Day One
When we got home, Bill wasn't very sure what to do. Over the forty minute car ride, he had fallen in love and trusted me entirely, but still was unsure about others. He took a while to get to know my roommates, but quickly snuggled up into their laps after noticing I trusted them to be in my home. For a dog that had severe social anxiety only two hours before, he sure was turning friendly. Bill's first night included a long walk on the Hartwell Dikes where he patiently allowed a three year old boy to warm up to him and muster up the strength for a quick pet, as well as a bath. With no special pet shampoo, I was forced to use my designer brand on this dog from the pound, and it barely masked the terrible smell. He was going to need a professional grooming, stat.
Another first for Bill was being brushed. He laid on his back and then flipped to his tummy as I methodically combed out his matted hair slowly and deliberately. Throughout the first night, he would run up to the brush and lay down, begging for me to continue the practice. All in all, I brushed Bill for close to two hours that evening.
Meds were difficult. I put them in cheese, chicken, peanut butter…any trick you could image I tried. Bill wanted nothing to do with it. He also wanted nothing to do with his dry food. I bought two different brands before settling on wet dog pureé with strong enough flavor that I could crush the antibiotics into without Bill tasting them. I felt like I had conquered a mountain - he was eating AND taking his medicine, without me having to shove both down his throat cruelly. Maybe I could take care of something living.
Maybe.
Where I Begin to Lose It
Monday morning I called seventeen different groomers in the South Carolina Upstate before I found one that would accept a last-minute emergency appointment for a dog that I had zero paperwork or medical records for. To be honest, I think these sweet Southern ladies could hear the exhaustion and desperation in my voice and took both Bill and me on as their Christian duty for the day. I brought Bill in to the small shop on the side of a the busy highway, and as the kind lady behind the counter asked what services I would like for my pup, she soon realized he was going to need "the works" after giving him a once over. I nodded in understanding agreement, and she told me to "Come back in three…oh no look at those nails….let's make it four hours." However, this was no lunch break for me.
Bill had fleas. We only found one or two while rubbing his belly the night before, but that was enough to send me in a full fledge panic. In my few hours while Bill was out, I washed every sheet, vacuumed every inch of that house, detailed every corner with flea repellent spray, and scrubbed down my entire car. I hadn't even had Bill for a day, and I was the one being worked like a dog.
My parents, who were perplexed about this whole fostering idea from the get-go, especially after seeing the photo of Bill, were concerned when they heard my anxiety on the phone.
"Lauren, are you sure this is a good idea? I mean who knows what else is going on with in his little body. It just sounds like a whole lot of unnecessary trouble for you when you're already so busy," my parents, always practical, chimed in.
Yes, I was overwhelmed, and I was definitely in over my head. But little things about Bill had already started to win me over.
First of all, he didn't bark. Ever. Even when I put him in his crate for the night, there wasn't so much as a single whimper from Bill's mouth. If there's anything that annoys me more than people holding in their sneezes and Donald Trump, it's a yippity dog.
Bill also valued a good nap, just like me. He would just climb right into your lap, curl up in an array of contorted positions until he found himself most comfortable, and then just snooze away.
Bill never had an accident inside the house. Bill had the sweetest disposition. But my favorite of all was that Bill followed me everywhere. If I went to the bathroom, Bill was coming. If I left the sofa to grab a snack from the kitchen, Bill followed right behind. When there was a room full of six sorority girls all fawning over and wanting to cuddle with Bill, and I walked away to go to my room, he was hopping up the stairs right in my shadow.
Stressed, sweaty, and reeking of cleaning chemicals, I reminded myself he was worth the energy. Besides. This was only for one week. I was going to make every second special for him.
Sweet Bill's Momma
When I went back to the groomer, I entered a scene much like the animal shelter, with dogs of all breeds and sizes barking and jumping. Then, when I looked in the corner, I saw Bill in "sit" position, wearing a heart bandana, quiet and calm, patiently waiting for whatever was to come next for him. I smiled to myself and for some reason was filled with immense pride to be the one collecting him.
"Are you Sweet Bill's Momma?" the groomer asked when she saw me peering into the back room.
"Uhm no..well, I mean, yeah. I guess. Yes, yes I am," I responded, not wanting to get into the complexities of our foster relationship.
"Well you gave me a project, but I loved it! He's got the biggest little heart I've ever worked on," she squealed genuinely. She then brought Bill around to see me, and I was greeted by a tail ready to wag itself off and a flurry of kisses.
Now don't get me wrong, Bill's transformation wasn't Princess Diaries or Miss Congeniality level whatsoever. I honestly still wouldn't classify him in the category of "cute." But, his hair was even, his nails were an appropriate length, and he looked like he belonged to someone. Like he was cared for. Like he was loved.
Which he was. Not only by me, but by everyone who met him.
Bill's story reached a sort of infamy among my circle of friends and extended beyond them quickly. What began as pity comments like "Oh, that's sooooooo nice that you're doing this for him," turned into praises like "I wish I had a dog like Bill!", "Bill is the man!", and "Is his name actually Bill?" (Okay, so not that much changed).
He attended sorority chapter meetings, small group Bible studies, and 21st birthday parties, and was instantly adored by everyone around him. I don't know if it's his calming demeanor, knack for snuggling with anyone who contacts him, or just everything he represents, but Bill became the dog loved by all, regardless of whether they even liked dogs or not.
"A Different Dog"
By Wednesday, I knew he was going to have to be mine. There was absolutely no way I could give this guy up.
I brought Bill back to the humane society to get some of his meds refilled when I decided to pop the question to Ashley, who was in the lobby while I was waiting for him to see the vet.
A mix of confusion, happiness, and pure shock lit up her eyes when I proposed the possibility of Bill staying mine. "I mean, that's incredible. We just never thought anyone would want to foster Bill let alone keep him. But I can tell he loves you so much…I mean, he looks like a completely different dog."
And she was right. Bill had come so far in just four days that he was barely recognizable. The mangy mutt that was hiding under my car had transformed into the engaging and playful companion who loved watching The Today Show, morning walks, and wearing his custom made (by moi) Panthers jersey.
Bill hadn't asked for a single thing from me. If I was running late and couldn't take him for a walk, he didn't growl. When I had a blonde moment and realized it was 8:30 pm and I hadn't fed him dinner yet, he wasn't angry. All he wanted was to be loved on and cared for. And when he was, it showed.
Ashley agreed to let me keep him a few days longer than my original length of seven, so that I could make sure it was a good fit. I called my parents, who were visiting the next week, to pick their brains about the possibility of turning "Just Bill" into "Just Bill Lisauskas." Unsurprisingly, I was met with a lot of "we'll sees," and "we can talk about it later on." Little did they know, I was just going through the formality of asking their approval. As for me, I was already hooked.
Bill is the LeeAnn Tuohy to my Michael Orr
I found myself missing Bill constantly: when I was at class, when I was at the gym, when I was at a party with all my friends. Everyone kept talking about how I was changing his life, but after a while I realized he was changing mine.
No longer was I sulking in my own self-absorbed problems. I didn't have time to mope or cry "woe is me." My purpose turned from "How can I serve myself and make sure that I am happy?" to "Has Bill had enough play time today? I wonder if he needs to go outside? Is this food providing him with the best nutrients? I really should buy the organic stuff."
And even when I wanted to tear my hair out trying to plan a sorority formal or when I came home crying over a boy, Bill was there for me. He cuddled with me. He listened to me. And he looked at me like I as the strongest, bravest, smartest, most amazing thing to ever exist.
"Sometimes Life Comes Along"
Soon enough, it was Monday night, my last full day with Bill before I had to make a decision. My parents had made reservations for a nice dinner in Greenville, but first they met and played with Bill, and of course, like everyone else, they fell in love with him.
Table conversation switched back and forth between schoolwork, sports, updates on my brother working back home in the city, and other trivial items. The elephant, or, should I say, mutt, in the room was still lurking though. I had yet to get an official answer from my Mom and Dad on the status of keeping Bill, and while I'd like to say I was going to do whatever I wanted, I have such a regard for my parents' opinions, and I respect them to much to actually ignore their wishes. Finally, when the anticipation had been too much, I counted to three and blurted out the question.
My parent's paused, looked at one another, and then my Mom set down her silverware. Whatever was coming had definitely already been discussed by the two of them privately, mulled over, and, therefore, decided on.
"I will be totally honest Lauren, it's not like we've been actively searching for another dog since Buddy. Your Dad and I both have known we want to get another one for the family sometime soon. But, I mean, I just always pictured our new dog being a cute, little designer puppy, like a teddy bear Shih Tzu or something fluffy like that." My Mom paused.
Exhaling, I bit my lip so the tears I could feel forming in the corner of my eyes wouldn't be free to run in public. I put my chin down to hide the evidence of disappointment. My face got warm and my head hurt.
"But," she continued, "that's kind of how life works, isn't it?"
I looked back up, confused about what keeping an ugly dog had to do with philosophies on the existence of being. Reading my expression, Mom elaborated.
"You see, we live every day with these flashy expectations and hopes for what's to come, what we want to see in our future. And that's fine, it's good to have dreams and goals, it really is. The thing is, life doesn't always work out how we want it to. Sometimes things don't go how we had planned. Sometimes life comes along, throws our expectations out the window, and even though it isn't perfect or very pretty, it can end up being even more beautiful than you could have ever imagined."
My mom then laughed to herself and said the most incredible words I could have ever asked, but never expected, for her to speak.
"And, I mean, along came Bill."
That was a snap moment for us all.
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