December 2011: a litter of six puppies is abandoned in front of the East Valley Animal Shelter.
January 2011: my pest control service tells me that rats are active on my property. I'm a little phobic about rats. He recommends putting out a few traps filled with bait. I nod, sure, hoping he'll just do what he has to do and leaving before we get into a detailed discussion of rats.
February 5, 2011: my family visits the shop of a pet rescuer/dog boutique. We're looking for a Husky puppy to rescue. Two roam the shop along with a dozen other dogs - a pit bull, a full-grown Husky, assorted spaniels and poodles and terriers and dachsunds and a symphony of barks. We take the female home and name her Nymeria.
She fits in a shoe box. We buy her a couple of chew toys, but she's just as content batting around a paper towel tube. We show her the back yard, carefully at first because we live next to open space where coyotes fight redtails and the occasional bobcat for live rabbit-food.
We speculate on her breed. The shelter workers marked her as a German Shepherd mix, but she doesn't have a German Shepherd face or build. A Siberian Husky? She's got the face and the blue gleam in the eyes, but not the coloring. One paw has just a little white tip. A Keeshond? A Norwegian Elkhound? Some mix? Does it matter?
Meanwhile, the pest control man comes back, sees her, tells me he's moving the rat traps so the dog can't get to them. I nod, just as anxious to get rid of him as I was the last time.
She develops a personality - social to the point of flirty. Humans adore her, or she gives a pouty bark to the few joggers and workers too busy to pet her. Every dog is a friend, she knows in her heart.
Everything is a toy.
We take her to puppy obedience class. "Sit" is hard, but meeting other doggies is fun.
She takes herself on walks.
March 11, 2012: She's been in the backyard for 15 minutes alone. I come out to get her for a walk and find her happily nibbling on something bright blue.
Bright blue?
I flash back to the pest control person telling me that the rat poison is colored bright blue. She's found the rat trap and eaten the rat bait.
I call the pest control people, call the veterinarian, rush her to the emergency pet hospital. The night blurs into vomiting, activated charcoal, fluids, blood tests. Finally, I take her home with a month's supply of vitamin K. "I think she'll be okay," the vet tells us.
Only then do I let myself to cry. We've only had her five weeks. How does one fall in love within five weeks?