Set the Way Back Machine to July 19, 2014. The began like any other Saturday. Except I’d seen a sign for a large animal adoption event (35 rescue groups, 300+ animals) at Jack London Square in Oakland, not too far from our house and right next to my gym. And when I told Mieko about it, she said she’d come with me.
We arrived at the event an hour before it ended. Think of a good sized street festival made up of animal rescue organizations with some vendors (everything from pet supplies, doggie day care centers, and carpet cleaners to insurance companies) thrown in for good measure.
Walking through the event, Mieko looked towards the Rocket Dog Rescue display, pointed at a large, white pile of fur and said “That dog. We need to adopt that dog.” I was dumbstruck. My wife, who had spent the last 12 years coming up with reasons not to get a dog, had fallen in love from fifteen feet. To quote Blaise Pascal: The heart has its reasons of which reason knows nothing.
In any case, fifteen minutes later we were taking That Dog on a trial walk. And fifteen minutes after that I was being as charming as I knew how to the adoption counselor (there was another couple milling about, showing dangerous interest in That Dog), and signing papers.
After that we got That Dog loaded into the car, somehow. Note large bald patch, one of several, probably due to stress and malnutrition. On That Dog. My wife does not have a bald patch.
On the way home we made the first and largest of what would turn out to be many, many, many Pet Food Express stops
Realized that That Dog needed a checkup. And a name.
The name was easy. Thinking about the commitment we’d made, the “What would you do for a Klondike Bar” jingle popped into my head, and That Dog became Klondike.
Picking a vet for the checkup was a bit more involved.
To be continued!