8. Sandy

When I was three years old I decided I wanted to become a veterinarian. When I was eleven years old I was allowed to take horseback riding lessons, where I worked off my lessons by grooming them, shoveling their manure, and brushing their silky soft coats. When I was twenty-four I told my husband that I desperately wanted a dog of my own. Luckily I married a man who loves my heart, the hard and the tender spots, and agreed to adopt a neurotic golden named Sandy.

Sandy is quirky, to say the least. If rain begins to pat-pit-patter on the roof she starts reeling in a state of neurosis that can only be sedated by Valium. I am not exaggerating... I have the prescription to prove it. Nonetheless, I love this dog as I love her when I first touched her in that cold back room behind the pet store where a soft-hearted woman named Jane told me about her previous life.

Sandy was a puppy in a home that had no room for her, so she was left in the cold and the heat and the dirt and the rain alone. Alone she chewed rocks, attempted escape, and I imagine just longed for somewhere soft to lay her russet head. Finally adopted, she settled into life with her second family that loved her to the point of tears, when they had to give her up again due their young son's allergies. As far as the virtues go, no one ever showed Sandy loyalty.

Yet loyal is what she is. We are her third family, and my son Jonathan loves her like he loves all of his toys-- with a passion that is expressed in vicious pats and serious tackles. Jonathan has been treating Sandy like an obstacle course or a punching bag since the day we brought her home. I payed close attention for the first month or so, sure that at some point she would snap and leave Jonathan with a warning sign such as a bite mark or claw across the face. She never did.

This evening my in-laws took their eldest children and spouses out for a date to celebrate our anniversaries which have all occurred lately. When we came home we chatted for a while with my father-in-law and Maria, who babysat. Sandy was nowhere in sight, so we figured she had sauntered off to her sleeping spot beside our bed, but when our guests left Josh called me softly into Jonathan's bedroom. "You've got to see this, Hannah," he whispered.

I tiptoed into Jonathan's room and Josh, smiling, pointed to the crevice behind the crib. There, wedged between a cupboard, stepstool, changing table, crib, and fifteen stuffed animals, was our faithful dog. Apparently she didn't approve of leaving the baby with a "stranger" for the evening, so she dutifully took up the post and planted herself squarely in front of his sleeping form. While Jonathan slept peacefully snoring with his hair wildly splayed and limbs limp in peacefulness, Sandy panted softly, a gentle rhythm of protection.

No matter where she comes from, no matter where she's been or how often I have to buy her meds, this dog is here to stay... and to show me what unconditional loyalty looks like.