The Past Emails

Today I received this email via David, who fostered Oliver for about a
half day before I giving him over to me.

David – Hi, my name is Glenn.  About a year and a half ago (I think)
you found a home for our dog, Astro, who we had to part with.  As I
recall, you placed her with a woman who was a newspaper photographer
up in Palm Beach County.

 The reason I'm writing is that I've received a notice from Miami-Dade
County for failure to submit proof of rabies vaccine for Astro, and
even though I've told them I don't have him anymore, I need to appear
at a hearing in a couple of weeks.  Therefore, I would like to get a
letter from you or from Astro's new owner, confirming that I gave him
away and am no longer the owner.

Is this something you can help me with?

Thanks.

Until now, I never knew the name of Oliver's previous owner. Now, I
do. I emailed Glenn back…

HI, Glenn,

Sorry to hear you are being hassled.
Ironic timing. I just got Oliver (Astro) a new tag yesterday. He is up
on his rabies shots however, considering you got him a 3-year one two
years ago.
If you have any more problems or need to contact them, I take him to
Village Animal Clinic - 561.848.4349.

Question for you if you don't mind - do you know Oliver's birthday (roughly)?

Best,
Cydney

Then, I got this response –

Thanks for getting back to me.  David also sent me the picture of
Astro/Ollie dressed up for Christmas…very cute…

 I don't know his birthday, as I had adopted him myself….When I got
him (late 2002 or early 2003), I think he was about 3 years old…but
that was just a guess by my vet at the time.

I hate to trouble you, but could you send me a letter (by email is
fine) stating that you adopted Astro from us in ______ (I think it was
the summer of 2006, but I really can't remember)…It would help me with
the administrative hearing.

Give him a hug for me.

Thanks.

So, apparently the go-between shared a photo with Glenn. I wanted to
send him one but wasn't sure he'd really want one. "Give him a hug for
me" he says. A stranger who once loved him, fed him, gave him a home,
adopted him himself at one time, clearly took very good care of him
and handed over oodles of organized medical records when he gave him
up, wants me to give him a hug for him. I'm happy to do that. I am
happy to be the one giving him a hug, even though the consequence will
be either him jamming his tongue stealthily up my nose or squirming
out of my arms, annoyed at my crushing adoration.

Glenn had adopted him, too. This means someone before Glenn actually
gave our sweet boy away. I am his third home. His THIRD home!

I'm not sure I could ever give him up. If I got larger medical bills
for treatment that would not effect his quality of life, I would save
more money and find ways to make some more on the side. If I met the
man of my dreams and he was allergic, he would have to buy stock in
Claritin-D and there will be no moving in until my dear Oliver left to
hangout with his late aunt Tilly in the giant Cape Cod in the sky.

I got a series of essays on cd from Mom for Christmas, which were all
written by John Grogan, author of Marley and Me. One essay talks about
saying goodbye to his dear lovable, clumsy dog, and I am squeezing my
tears in thinking about the day when I too will experience that. (I'm
so grateful that I failed to grow-out of my adolescent tendency
towards morbid thoughts.)

I arrive home after my long day and send along the info Glenn needs to
get Miami-Dade off his back, and he sends me this response...

I really appreciate it and am glad Oliver has such a good home.  (I
don't know if David told you, but when we adopted Astro, we already
had a dog, and no children. Once we had our 2 kids, the 2 dogs were
too much for my wife to handle when I was away on business trips.)

Thanks again.

Then, there was another email in response to my wondering about his
health, and also, had Glenn trained him so well?

Our other dog is very well-trained, but as much as I tried with
Astro/Oliver, he always seemed a bit "slow" (at least in comparison)…I
did teach him to heel but he was pretty inconsistent in actually
listening to me…the food thing we did insist on…he never was allowed
to grab food off a table or counter, and he even didn't eat from his
own bowl until I said "ok"….I would put the bowl on the floor and make
the dogs sit before saying ok, and then they'd make a mad dash for
their food.

So, now I know it all. He didn't really want to get rid of him, but
had to. Two kids and two dogs was understandably, too much. I know his
age for sure now, too. He's eight years old. He is a failed trainee in
Glenn's home compared to the smarty-pants dog, and a genius as far as
I'm concerned. I also know he is my favorite part of coming home every
day. Tonight, as I worked from home on some photos that needed to be
sent-in quickly, he jammed his nose under my arm, rested his paw on my
knee and his chin on his paw.

Once the photos were sent, I asked him, "Where's you toy?!"
His ears perked up and he squirmed delightedly before taking off in
search of his rope bone or mangled pig, whichever was found first.

Once he found it, he looked to me, alert, waiting for his next cue
which would have him running around the apartment, victim in his
mouth, with me close behind.
"IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII'm gonnnnna get it!"