With Kerrie longing for a child that wouldn't talk back to her, she embarked on a tour of the internet to find a rescue puppy. I agreed to expand the family under the following three conditions:
1. The dog can't shed
2. I get to name it (Kerrie grew up with cats named Snowball, Snowball II, and Snowball III)
3. We will not spend money for a dog (not that I don't think it is worth it, because after having witnessed all the effort and costs my mother-in-law expended breeding dogs, I understand the importance of everything she did and the value it brought; but our checkbook won't be convinced just now)
Her cousin, Kenneth, is an accomplished veterinarian who came across a rescue that he felt would be right for our family, and after that fateful introduction of emotionally vulnerable wife and cute frolicky puppy, arrangements were made to bring her home.
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| Zasha, and the "Z" on Her Back |
A week later, we packed up the family truckster with the kids and headed to Kenneth's. The kids were excited; images of themselves rolling on the floor with giggles pouring out in lackluster avoidance of wet, licking kisses danced in their heads wearing twinkle-toed ballet shoes. Meanwhile, images of pee, poop, fur, barking, and chewed up shoes marched through my mind wearing muddy boots.
We discussed her name on the two-hour drive. I fended off the kids' suggestions of Fluffy, Snowy, and Spots (not Spot, mind you, but Spots), thankful I had pre-negotiated the naming rights. I wanted something that resonated the kids Russian heritage and equally reflected that our family is made up members that do not come to us in the traditional way (with birds tweeting and bees humming). It had to also reflect my limited knowledge of the Russian language.
I settled on "Nasha", which sounded Russian and meant "Ours". The kids settled slowly on it, without full submission, but I kept using it in an attempt to firmly plant it in their minds.
We got to Kenneth's office and meandered into the back room, which was filled with caged, barking dogs waiting for surgery or healing from some unfortunate illness or injury. There was our Nasha (is that redundant?) sitting peacefully in a cage with a nameplate above: Cherry. What?!?!? she already has a name?!?! Do not let the kids see that one!!
She was a gray, fuzzy, four-month-old, some-kind-of-dog with many black markings across her body. Kerrie pulled her out of the cage and hugged her against her black shirt and when she set her down outside, I saw that half the dog remained on her shirt. So much for condition Number 1.
She bonded quickly with the kids out in the parking lot, but they never did get comfortable with her name. Molloy noticed that one of her markings looked like the letter Z and felt we should give her a name that began with a Z. With cute little daughter holding cute little puppy, I caved into naming her Zasha. Everyone liked that and no sooner had we been with the puppy for 5 minutes; condition Number 2 was now also gone.
So as we packed her up and before we left I see my wife writing out a check for $250. What's that? The fee for the rescue organization; but I said NO FEES!!!. It was the third condition!
OK, let me be clear; I'm not complaining that we were paying $250 to an organization that finds these neglected, abandoned animals and gives them a happy home instead of sending them to their demise...especially when I also got some very expensive free vet care from Kerrie's cousin including a check-up, shots, microchip, and spay (we're talking surgery). I'm upset because within a 5 minute span I saw all three of my reasonable conditions evaporate before my very eyes. If my negotiating skills at the office were this effective I would be out of work. Oh, well. Such is my life. I guess the price for a happy home-life is to first make me think I am getting what I want and then taking it away from me; only to be left with the things that give me a happy home-life.
On the ride home, Lev is suddenly reminded of a book I bought him about a year ago of a Russian family during World War II that finds a stray German Shepherd at a time when Russians hated the Germans so much that they even killed their dog breed. The children secret the dog away until circumstances arise that allow for the knowledge of the dog to become safely known. The title was "Saving Zasha" and with a little help from my friend Mr. Google, I later learn that Zasha means "people's protector". I smile warmly to myself.
We brought Zasha home on a Sunday, but after two days she became sullen and somewhat unresponsive. She wasn't eating or drinking and then started walking in circles. By Tuesday morning, we became so worried that Kerrie rushed her back to Kenneth, with Lev coddling her in the back seat all the way (Daniel and Molloy stayed in school). Kenneth spent two days identifying a brain virus but could not get the medication right in time, and by Thursday...Zasha was gone.
It fell to me to tell the kids what had happen to Zasha. I sat them down on the sofa (I think this is the real reason sofas were invented; to sit kids down and tell them how cruel the world can be sometimes. That, and to watch TV...to see how cruel the world can be sometimes.) I explained to them that we did, indeed, rescue Zasha. We found her, we took her into our home, and we loved her, if only for a short time. We gave her the best medical care she could have found anywhere on the planet and her best chance was with us. And in those few short days, she felt our love and especially felt Lev holding her and protecting her, making her feel safe, all the way to Kenneth's. Unfortunately, she didn't make it. But it is important to always remember that we did rescue Zasha. (A pretty good speech if I do say so myself.)
All I could do now was sit back and see how they reacted.
Daniel: "When can we get another puppy?"
Molloy: "Can we get a gerbil, one with long hair?"
Lev seemed to be a little more affected, asking an occasional question over the next few days. Probably because he is a little more emotional and he was the one who held her for two hours when bringing her back to Kenneth's.
But Kerrie mourned for over a week. I playfully complained that she was crying more heavily about Zasha than if it were me who passed. When I go, I told her, she will likely sit the kids down on the sofa with serious tones and explain to them how life will be different from now on. With Daniel's following question, "When can we get a new dad?" and Molloy adding the exclamation point, "One with long hair?" But Zasha gets the crying and the sobbing. It did draw out a quirky smile from her.
But I understood. She sobbed at the incessant thought of Zasha alone in a crate in the dark hours of the night while Kenneth tried to solve an unsolvable problem, only to finally succumb in loneliness.
But please always remember, Kerrie, we did rescue Zasha.
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