Ours, I mean.
Her name was Bella and she was (well, still is) an English bulldog puppy born on February 20.
Thank goodness the girls didn’t know.
What happened was this. My beloved Betty, whom many of you had the privilege of knowing during the short 8 years with which she graced us with her presence, died last summer.
She was a French bulldog. And once you’ve owned a French bulldog, you can never go back to life without one. It seems to me.
But they cost upwards of two thousand dollars. Rescued Frenchies are in such high demand that they’re impossible to procure; it’s easier to adopt a human baby. So I’d broadened my options to include almost any small, non-frou-frou looking dog without too much terrier. The problem was, Djuna was attacked by a dog while in Paige’s care, and so the new dog probably should be a puppy. But rescued puppies for small breeds are generally rare, too, and possibly unpredictable as to what they’ll grow into.
ANYWAY. On Craig’s list yesterday I stumbled upon an ad: owner needed for an Englishbulldog puppy. The foster mother had purchased her from the owners for $1800 three days ago; they were going to do something drastic with it, and she wanted to save it so she bribed them. She had no interest in re-couping her losses; she just wanted a good home for the dog. Enter me.
We talked and she decided the girls and I deserved this dog. She sent me a picture and there was Bella. Have you ever seen a bulldog puppy? Well, I’ve included a picture, so you get the idea. I was done for. The plan was to get the dog that night, so that when Djuna and Poppy came home the next day . . . . surpirse!! We agreed to meet at the Feed Store at Topanga Canyon and Sunset; I would give her some money to cover her suppiles, and she would give me Bella, crate and all. I couldn’t believe my good fortune.
So I drive happily through one hour of Friday rish-hour traffic to meet her in Malibu. I get there first, and I’m in the store looking around, when in walks this woman whose tear-stained face is empited of all color and strained with anxiety. Not what I was expecting at all–I rather liked to think that the foster mother would be happy to see me, the nice person giving Bella a good home. But instead she was clearly grief stricken and conflicted. “Are you Leilani?” she asks me.
”Yes! You’re Lizzie?” I ask cheerfully, hoping my enthusiasm is so blindingly bright that it burns away Lizzie’s doubts.
Her expression doesn’t even remotely change. She just nods like I’ve just pronounced her death sentence. She leads me out back to meet Bella,in her truck.
Bella is beautiful. I give Lizzie my measly check. Lizzie is holding back tears. “I almost turned around 3 times,” she said, “but I thought, that would be mean, to just leave you waiting here for your bulldog that never showed up.”
Yes, it would have been very sad I agree. “Well, I suppose there’s some comfort in doing the right thing and kept my word to you,” she said, clearly uncomforted. Meanwhile, her Great Dane Jay-Jay is dancing around Bella like a reindeer around a mouse. Bella poops while standing between us. We clean it up. We finish the transaction. I assure her that Bella will make two little girls and their mother ecstatic, Bella will be very loved, and everyone will live happily every after.
But Lizzie’s acting like she’s mad at me. Like I forced her to advertise the dog, offer it to me, drive here, and give it to me. “Ok, well, you’ve done a beautiful thing,” I say. “Thank you. Bye!”
We part ways.
I get Bella home. Bella is sad. Bella is tired. Bella is confused. Bella won’t come out of her crate. I understand that this is her fourth relocation in her short 12 weeks, but still, she’s a puppy, and I know puppies. A spark is missing. I think about Jay-Jay and wonder if Bella’d started to feel like part of the pack in three days over there at Lizzie’s. Of course she had. She’s dog. And I remembered how, after three days with Betty, I was already prepared to throw myself in front of a truck to protect her.
I feed Bella and then sit down on the floor to play with her. She just ambles over and climbs into my lap like a little child and, like a child after a bad fall or disappointment, curls up in my arms as if to cry it out. Then she puts her little snout on my forearm and sighs, a sigh that trembles through her whole body. She is the softest little thing, with hug paws. Her ears are like little silk purses.
I think about how LIzzie lives on a ranch, with ten acres for Bella and Jay-Jay to romp through together, Jay-Jay prancing around little Bella who shuffles in that bulldog way. All I’ve got is a little open front yard the size of a parking space.
Gosh darnit, I think. Why can’t people make up their minds?
But I know the feeling. Kevin and I once bought a puppy, a Lab, and brought it home, thrilled to pieces. Then Kitty freaked out so bad she wouldn’t come out from under the bed, and this went on for a few days, and Kitty was old and decrepit, so we found a home for Walter (that’s what we named him). When we got home from his new residence. Kevin say down on the living room floor and cried, his heart fit to break, immediately regretting having let Walter go. But what could we do? We’d given him to new family, and he wasn’t ours to take back anymore. Poor Kevin.
I sat with Bella for a long, long time, looked into her eyes a lot, and finally picked up my phone. I dialed Lizzie’s number.
“Lizzie, this is Leilani.”
“Yes?” she asked. She sounded horrible, like she’d done nothing but cry since I last saw her.
“This is going to sound crazy . . . “
She held her breath.
“. . . but I really think Bella belongs with you, not me,” I told her. And held my breath.
“Really?” she said, like it was too good to be true.
“Yup, she’s sad, and you’re sad, and I’m not too attached to her yet, and the girls have no idea, so let’s get this over with.”
I met her at the Skirball this time. She was beside herself with relief. Bella was asleep in her crate. Lizzie gave me some costume jewelry for my girls and told me she’d keep an eye out for Frenchies. She couldn’t believe I’d called her back.
“And to think, I almost stood you up,” she reflected, “and I would’ve had Bella, but I would’ve felt horrible. Now I get the best of both worlds.”
“Yup,” I said. “You two belong together. Good luck.” I got in my car and drove away, so comforted by having done the right thing that I didn’t start crying until I was on the 405.
.
