Doggonit

A few months into our relationship, The Israeli called to tell me that he was dog-sitting for the weekend. I wasn't surprised. This former kibbutznik is your typical right-hand man. One day, he's moving friends into their new house. The next, he's lending his car to an out-of-town pal for a weekend of sightseeing. The Israeli said that he and the dog -- "Layla" -- would be right over.

"Uh, okay."

I've never liked dogs. They stink. They beg. They're needy and co-dependent. And I've had enough of cleaning up someone else's poop, thank you. I'll take a cat over a dog any day. Some of my earliest baby pictures show our family cat, "Blackie," cuddling with me. Cats are independent and neat. They also bury their own poop. 

Layla. Her name means "night" in Hebrew. How lyrical, I thought. I imagined some sweet dark-haired pooch with a little rough pink tongue. I pictured my six-year-old daughter throwing a ball to Layla and patting her head when she retrieved it.

When I opened the door, however, some brute thing lunged at me. She was half-Rottweiller, half-Pitt Bull. To say that she startled me was an understatement.

I stumbled backwards. "That dog cannot come into my house."

"Don't be scared," The Israeli said, gripping her collar. "She's nice. She just wants to smell you."

"She doesn't look nice," I said.

"Ah, c'mon, just look at her." He scratched under her chin. He was laughing.

"It's not funny," I said. I didn't want to look at her. I didn't want anything to do with her.

"I don't want her anywhere near Mae," I said about my daughter. I've been raising her as a single mother since she was a baby. Sure, I can be a little overprotective. I was picturing the terrible things this monster could do to my kid.

The Israeli turned his head down, heartbroken. "But I love dogs," he said. "I want to have a dog someday."

"You do?" I said. Why hadn't he mentioned this before?

He looked miserable. I couldn't take it.

I also know that Judaism had a lot to say about being kind to animals. "A righteous man knows the soul of his animal," according to Proverbs 12:10. Judaism has always made a distinction between the way a person treats animals and the way a person treats human beings. Someone who is cruel to a defenseless animal will undoubtedly be cruel to defenseless people.

Fine then. Layla could come inside for 10 minutes. Tops.

Just then, Mae came out of her room, cautious and guarded.

"Hold that dog tight," I warned the Israeli. "Don't let her go."

"Is it okay, Mommy?" Mae said.

"Put your hand out," he said before I could. "Let her sniff you."

 Layla licked her fingers. I held my breath. This dog was twice her size. But Mae giggled. Layla's tail jogged in the air.

"Look at her tail!" Mae squealed.

For the rest of the afternoon, Layla was on Mae's heels. Whatever Mae commanded, the dog obeyed.

"Sit!"

"Down!"

"Roll over!"

My daughter often played the role of commander-in-chief with me; but to see her having power over someone other than me was amusing. I thought she'd be shy and reserved with this huge beast, as she is in most new situations. But look at her, being so dominant. You go girl.

~~~

Over the next few months, The Israeli continued to dog-sit on sporadic weekends. He'd had a dog growing up on the kibbutz, and I could see the untamed boy within him. When I found out that Layla had been rescued as a puppy from the streets of Oakland -- an American-Israeli couple found her at the pound -- I felt a twinge of compassion for her.

Thanks to Layla, I was adding new words to my vocabulary. Brindle: those pretty brown streaks on her chin and paws. Dewclaws: the extra nails that hung off her legs one of which got torn on something, sending us straight to the vet for emergency surgery.

Maybe Layla was growing on me. In some ways, it was the perfect set-up. The Israeli would take care of Layla for half-a-day, both he and Mae got their dog-fill, and then she went home. 

~~~

              Then, last spring, The Israeli got the call: Layla's owners were moving to Tel Aviv; they were taking the dog with them. The Israeli was gloomy. When I told Mae the news, she burst into tears.

The weekend before Layla's flight, I offered to invite her to my Mother's Day picnic. (What was happening to me?) It would be our last afternoon together. What was supposed to be a celebration -- of motherhood, maternity, and me -- turned into a good-bye party for the dog. We fed her bits of chicken. We took photos of her. She led us on a hike around the lake.

In the meantime, a suicide bomber blew himself up at in Tel Aviv. Nine people were dead, over 60 were wounded. A few nights before Layla's departure, another suicide bomber blew up a bus in Tel Aviv. The Israeli was glued to the TV news in my living room. As I put Mae to bed, his cell phone rang.

He was speaking in Hebrew, but I kept hearing "Layla." He was either talking about the dog, or nighttime.

He tiptoed into Mae's room. "Honey, I need to talk to you about something--."

In pure The Israeli-style, he did not wait to discuss this adult-to-adult. "How would you feel about adopting Layla?"

"Layla!" Mae exploded from under the covers. "I want Layla!"

Layla's owners had decided that given the political climate in the Middle East, it would be too hard to take her to their small apartment in Tel Aviv. She'd be happier here, running through the Berkeley woodlands.

              And that was that.

I'm thinking about getting "My Rottweiler is smarter than your honor student," bumper sticker. Layla has certainly stuck on me.

The Israeli likes to brag that he got the instant-family he wanted, dog included.

I just tell everyone: "We both came into this relationship with a daughter."

Rachel Sarah

Mae, and her new "sister" on a picnic.

Rachel's first book, Single Mom Seeking: Play Dates, Blind Dates, and Other Dispatches from the Dating World, was published this year (Seal Press/Avalon, 2007).

Please visit her website, Single Mom Seeking, www.singlemomseeking.com.

Come and say "hi" at her blog, too: http://singlemomseeking.wordpress.com/

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