3-26-2009

One Wednesday morning, I was making limoncello with my girlfriend Kristi. One has to be wondering, how does limoncello relate to getting a dog. We were elbow deep in peeling 40 lemons, 20 oranges and 10 grapefruit when the phone rang. I popped up to look at caller id, and, in the same way the teenagers to, realizing its not for them, I walked away and let the caller leave a message.

The limoncello process is rather lengthy, in particular, if you are making this liquor with Kristi, and one is too busy talking to count the number of lemon rinds in each Mason jar or the milliliters of vodka poured out. Plus, we needed more vodka to complete the job, and decided to head to lunch, buy vodka on the way back, finish the process and call it a day. It really does consume a whole day, if you include lunch.

When the seven Mason jars were safely stored in the cellar, and Kristi on her way, I remembered that someone had called earlier that day. As I scrolled through the numbers, I did not recognize any with the exception of one from Willoughby, which I knew to be a city close to my breeder’s home. Correct I was.

On the message, Debbie was asking me to call, “I wanted to give you the update on Enzo after his eight week checkup from the vet.” Immediately, I sensed a calm alarm in her voice. My jaw dropped, my heart raced, my pulse was off the roof. What could it be? Oh please don’t let it be anything….

I ran to my office to retrieve pen and paper, knowing I would have to take notes, and in that time, I also checked e-mail (I am the ultimate multi-tasker). Debbie had also felt the need to communicate via email as well. Apparently, limoncello takes A LOT longer than one might anticipate.

I sped through the text of her note. The vet had detected a slight heart murmur in Enzo. This was not uncommon, she emphasixed. How bout my heart now, I am thinking, this seems pretty uncommon. She also explained that the murmurs usually go away and in no way indicate Mitro-valve disorder, which can also be found in this breed. Debbie was thorough in explaining the murmur may disappear at 12 or 16 weeks and reminded me of the one year guarantee. Well, I thought, thank god for that.

But there I sat, paralyzed, unable to call her. First, I called Mark at the hospital to read him the body of the note. “She wants to know if we want a different dog, one of the other males.” Mark asked, “What do you think?” And I said, “I picked Enzo, that’s who I want. The other dog would not be Enzo.” Mark replied, “I guess you have to decide, if something happens would you feel worse for having picked this one, or if the other dog didn’t work out, would you feel bad for foregoing the original Enzo in the first place.”

“I picked Enzo,” I repeated. We hung up and I called the breeder. She walked me through the same explanation she had given over email. And I repeated one last time, “I picked Enzo.” It just wouldn’t be the same.

Later, at dinner, I shared the information with the kids. Before telling them the outcome, I waited for their reaction, my breath held, wondering if I had picked a doozy. Would they blame me? I wasn’t very good at shouldering responsibility.

All three in unison said, “Ooohhh, We should keep Enzo,” or something to that effect. I nodded in agreement and told them, “That’s what I told the breeder.”

I picked Enzo, we would live together and die together too. If, and when it comes to that, I will have plenty of limoncello to toast to his life and how even before he has moved in with us, I am a better woman because of him.