The Ups and Downs of Rescuing a Dog
His separation anxiety is powerful, but so is my love for him
I rescued my dog exactly a year ago from a shelter near Downtown Los Angeles.
I still remember the first time I walked into the shelter and saw a crate full of dogs. Stuck to the crate was the name of one of the dogs. “Merpa,” I read to myself. Not knowing which dog was Merpa, I continued to move forward. A few seconds later, this skinny long-limbed dog stuck his nose under the bottom of the crate and started to sniff me. Everywhere I moved, he followed along. His nose glued to the ground sniffing so hard I thought he was stuck.
I had 10 minutes to pick a dog before the shelter was closing. With very little time, I looked over at the little brown nose shoved under the crate door and watched as he lay in a weird downward dog position: butt in the air, face pressed on the floor, nose under the crate sniffing for me to come closer to him. I couldn’t help but laugh. “I’ll take him,” I said to the volunteer at the shelter. He looked over at me and said, “That’s Merpa. He was a stray. You have 10 days to return him for an exchange.” Ah, he’s Merpa, I thought. It was the first name I read coming into the shelter and it was the only name I was leaving with.
