Falling in love again
To give your heart to a dog is to ensure you'll have it broken one day. To those who say, I could never love that way again, I respond: Sure you can. Here's how.
Welcome to the new subscribers that came from Sari Botton’s recommendations in Oldster and Memoirland. The piece about her in the New York Times is the only good news to come out of that publication in recent memory (unless you count my Wordle streak).
I published this piece in Oldster in October, and that’s what launched my Substack. I’m a 59-year-old writer (squarely in the Oldster demo) and head intake coordinator for Northeast Boston Terrier Rescue. I’ve been writing about my life with dogs since 2010, when I published the New York Times bestseller You Had Me at Woof. I later wrote a follow-up, Love at First Bark. I’ve written a lot of other books that aren’t about dogs, but I’m back at it and will be publishing a new book, Other People’s Dogs, by my fabulous lifelong publisher, Riverhead Books, sometime in 2027 (dog willing).
When you write a lot about dogs, people tend to think of you as a dog expert. I can’t tell you how many questions I get about training, about nutrition, about vets. Each time I have to shrug and respond, Sorry, the only part of dogs I’m an expert in is kissing them on their soft little heads.
The question people most frequently ask me concerns dying pets, and how to manage the grief that follows. I’ll cover that in depth in a future post, but we’re all living under a giant dome of grief these days and I’d rather not add to it. Besides, we’re finally getting some sun and the promise of warmer temperatures here in New York City, so let’s leave the grief for another day. Today let’s think about something a little happier: getting a dog after you’ve lost one.
I’m always surprised when people ask about getting a dog after a loss. Not because you should or shouldn’t, but because it’s generally something very personal and deeply felt. Everyone moves at their own speed, everyone grieves in their own way. I’ve heard countless people say, I’m never getting another dog, I don’t want to go through this again, but then weeks or months (or years) pass and they realize there’s a big void and the need to fill it with the only thing that can: a dog.
My dear friend Claudia had a wonderful dog who died shortly before I was fostering an adorable Boston terrier named Buddy. His story? He’d been running away from his home in New Jersey until finally the owners told Animal Control to just keep him. I thought he might be good for Claudia, so as a Dog Yenta, I suggested she meet him. Claudia is a dresser, as opposed to me, who wears jeans that I can take on and off without unbuttoning (super flattering!) and a t-shirt.
Claudia came over in a fabulous Thom Brown suit and blue suede boots. Buddy grabbed her with his big paws as if he was saying, “Finally, I found you!” He fell madly in love with her. And then? He lifted his leg and peed on those boots. I was a little horrified because that might be considered a deal breaker, but my mother, who always dispenses great wisdom, simply said, “He was marking her as his own.”
Claudia, who instantly loved Buddy as much as he loved her, agreed and adopted him. Buddy was in for two quick changes: overnight he became Ziggy, and, like his new owner, impeccably well dressed. He had a faux leather biker jacket, Jean Paul Doggier striped shirts and a reindeer costume. My Aunt Mattie would say in her Bronx accent, “That dawg is a clothes haws.”
A love affair for all time
Ziggy and Claudia had a wonderful eight years together. He was universally beloved in the neighborhood (in addition to being friends since high school, Claudia and I also live just a block apart). But those eight years flew by, and then, sadly, it was Ziggy’s time.
We were all heartbroken. But the life they had together along with her son and husband was a true testament to devotion.
A few months later, she started to think about getting another dog. Not a replacement. Someone different. I have to say that when people talk about getting a dog, this is the pinnacle of joy for me. The way some people like to plan trips or shop for clothes, I like to match dogless people with homeless dogs. Claudia was looking at other breeds (apparently they exist) and we talked a lot about it. She asked me about corgis and Scotties and various other small but not yippy dogs, and I told her what little I knew about any dog that’s not a Boston terrier.
Claudia swipes right
Then one day, I got an email from the Manhattan Animal Care and Control, our big animal shelter. We’re a New Hope Partner—what they call their relationship with rescue groups. When they get a Boston, they let us know so we can get them out of the shelter fast and find a great home for them. They had a brown Boston named Juju. He was 2 or 3 and they said we could have him immediately. They sent me his photo and, reader, I gasped.
Immediately I enlisted my downstairs neighbor and friend, Sam, to foster for us. Her sweet pug, Ponty, had recently left this mortal coil and she was without a dog. Sam is sort of a neighborhood legend—she knows every dog and dog person on our block and beyond. I know none because my dogs are always such schmucks, they can never interact with anyone.
In fact last week I was walking on Broadway and I saw a stray dog—he wasn’t actually stray, his moron owner had no collar or leash on him—and a woman and I were trying to figure out where he belonged. She looked at me and said, “I know you, you live in the building with Sam-Ponty.” I had to admit that I did, though I just call her Sam.
Anyway, Sam agreed to foster Juju, but I had him his first night. I told Claudia she had to meet him. I knew she wasn’t looking for another Boston terrier, but was she looking for the Clark Gable of dogs? She met him and it was magical. He fell in love with her, though he did not pee on her boots. After he was neutered, she adopted him and renamed him Mel Brooks. (In addition to her sartorial prowess, Claudia is also a first-rate namer of dogs.)
Whenever I talk to Debby about getting together with friends, I mean Mel. Debby is one of those dogs who reacts badly to other dogs. When we pass people on the street who want their dogs to say hello I have to tell them she’s a mean old lady. But for Mel, Debby makes an exception. I mean, look at him!
