I am a cat person and have always been a cat person. If there was a stray cat within 25 miles, they would find their way into my home and heart. And then I met Sophia.
In 2005, Brittany continued to struggle with the loss of her father. She dropped out of college, spending the day huddled in her curtain-drawn bedroom. When I peeked through the door, she hurled Linda Blair like emotions in my direction. It shames me to admit that I struggled to find my nurturing side. In my defense, six months earlier, I took a steep risk purchasing an expensive fixer-upper and suddenly lost my job. Two out of three girls in college and a “money pit” did not leave much energy for “mommy time.” She was broken, and I was powerless to help. Her answer, she wanted a dog.
The situation continued to deteriorate. Brittany took a job at a bagel shop that required her to leave the house at 2:30am, sleep all day, and remain angry at everyone, especially me. Waving the white flag of surrender, I decided to get the dog.
I was excited to share my change of heart but when she pulled into the driveway at 6:30am after staying out all night without a phone call, I was livid. “I was going to take you to get a dog, but you stayed out all night…” Yes, score one for a mature moment.
She apologized, bartered, begged, and, as every mother knows, I caved. A glimmer of reassurance that my maternal instinct was still intact. We pulled the classified ads. Yes, that was how you found dogs and searched for Shitzu’s, her choice of pups. I purposely did not bring money on the initial trip to reduce the chance of choosing with my heart. I am, after all, self-aware.
Two hours later, we walked into the breeder’s home, and there in the middle of the living room, we saw her. She was the last of the litter. People wanted show dogs, and she did not make the cut. She sat on her hip, kind of a side saddle look, and had an overbite. To us, she was adorable. To Brittany, the last puppy was someone to love again. Brittany picked her up, and the puppy gently laid her head on her shoulder. It was almost as though she knew. “I will be right back with the money.” We had a dog.
We named her Sophia Hope, with the middle name carrying the weight, and she lived up to it almost immediately. She did not follow the rules, ever. There was no sleeping in a crate as she preferred the bed. She followed Brittany from the moment she woke up until they climbed into bed at night. Brittany’s naps became shorter until the escape was no longer needed. Sophia pulled my daughter back from the bowels of grief and back to me. More importantly, she brought Brittany back to herself.
She may not have been a show dog grade, but her personality was blue ribbon-worthy. She was an escape artist digging under my now-husband Rich’s fence to run across the schoolyard and romp with the children during recess. That did result in a short jail time, standard policy for the police department when they find a stray dog. It is more of a policy when the dog’s owner is the police chief. She brought Sadie, Rich’s Australian Shepard, joy and loyal companionship. As Brittany healed, she went back to school and decided to study in Greece. Concerned that Sophia would be lonely, a friend gifted us a rescue kitten, who became Sophia’s best friend. Not too many friends share a laundry basket when birthing their kittens.
You know the drill. The child moves out – the dog does not. Sophia spent hours sitting next to me, literally sharing my chair while I worked. I took her everywhere. She loved LBI probably because we walked, walked, and walked. It is my place of peace and where she will find her final resting place. I have never known the love of a dog like I did with Sophia. But I know that she showed me unconditional love, connection, and hope are all that matters in our lives. As I write this, my eyes are welled with tears because I allowed myself to know the love of a dog.
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