Chance Encounters

Saturday morning I was out with the boys (have I mentioned how much I like saying "the boys" or "the girls?") I'm not sure if it's because I still can't believe I have boy(s) and girl(s) or because it means if I'm saying one of those words it means I only have two children with me. Practically a spa day!

On our way to speech therapy, we stopped at a light and I noticed the car in front of us was carrying two beautiful golden retrievers. It was a station wagon, and the two dogs were all the way in the back, sitting by the large rear window. When we stopped at the light, I pointed them out to Leo. Then, because I am me, I waved at the dogs. Yes, waved. As if they were going to wave back. Well I could swear they at least smiled at me.

I also found myself tearing up. Because the older one (one was, yes, a puppy) looked so much like our Ruby.

You won't believe what happened next. We pulled into the complex where the therapist is located. Guess who pulled up next to us in the parking lot? Well. I couldn't resist. And since I've yet to meet a rude or mean or even unfriendly golden retriever owner, I jumped out of the car and announced that I'd admired the dogs from the road (!) and would it be ok if my son(s) and I said hello?







I think it's safe to say they didn't mind.

Saying Goodbye to the One Who "Started Our Family"

This weekend, we said goodbye to this sweet girl, our Ruby.

She had just turned eleven years old. I complained plenty about her the last few years. Four kids and a dog: It's a lot. But the simple fact is, she was a wonderful, wonderful dog. She was a sweet soul with more patience than any creature I have ever known, as you can see here.



And here.



And here.



And of course, here.



She was happiest when she was just with us.



She loved to have her belly rubbed with your foot. She'd stick her leg up and lay back as if to say, "Don't Stop! I love it!"



She always had to be right there, doing what we were doing, a part of our little gang.

Yes, she was often frustratingly underfoot (especially when someone was eating). And don't get me started on her unabashed food thievery. She must have ingested the equivalent of a thousand purloined cheese quesadillas and pizza slices, usually in one gulp. I often marveled at how she didn't even seem to have to chew her stolen food--poof! It was just gone. She never left a crumb on the floor either, and enjoyed the bounty of dropped food that comes with four children.

And so thanks to Ruby, I didn't sweep my kitchen floor for eleven years.




I still remember the hot, sticky night that we drove out to the hinterlands of Long Island to pick her up. She was floppy and soft and slept in my lap all the way home like an infant (which, at eight weeks old, she was!). She cried all night long that first night home with us-- Erin had to sleep with her hand in the little box where we'd set up her bed. And when she woke us up to go outside at 5 a.m. the next morning, I wondered if I was grown up enough to handle this whole dog business.

Erin had wanted a dog for a long time but I was hesitant. It seemed like a lot of responsibility (by the way, Sweetie? Getting Ruby? One of the best ideas you ever had). Because the simple truth was, I needed Ruby. It was the fall of 2002 and New York City continued under a layer of grief following September 11. At that time, Erin worked many nights and weekends. My mother was still dead and I felt very much alone. Ruby was my constant companion and together, she and I explored the streets of Park Slope, Brooklyn. We chose restaurants based on who had outdoor seating (and allowed dogs). Prospect Park was our backyard and to this day, the sight of Ruby's little blonde legs bounding after a tennis ball through the dewy grass, ranks as one of the happiest sights of my life. Her ebullient joy was infectious-you couldn't watch her in her tennis ball chasing element and not feel happy.

I regaled my friends and family with pictures of her, our undeniable "First Baby" via email. There was Ruby, frolicking in the snow outside our Brooklyn stoop. There was Ruby jumping in the crunchy orange and yellow leaves. My canine photo gallery email recipients tolerated me. When we announced I was pregnant, my stepmom said, "You'll see, a baby is even more fun than a dog!"



She moved cross country twice and without complaint, traveling via airplane and Subaru Outback.

When an old friend from graduate school heard about Ruby's death, she wrote this:

"I remember a joyful picture of you and Erin with Ruby as a puppy...you two were beaming. At the time, I thought, that was the start of your family."

She was right.

And then the kids came along. Leo, in particular, was in love with her.



And Ruby loved the kids. And tennis balls.



We often joked that if  you could harness the energy and focus Ruby spent on catching a tennis ball, you could probably generate power for a small town.



I'm pretty sure Leo had a tennis ball hidden in the snow somewhere. He loved hiding them from her. And she in turn adored the hunt.



I have some guilt, that she went from being "Our Baby" (sleeping in our bed, enjoying full days devoted to her with long walks, morning, noon and night)  to basically the fifth fiddle. She may not have always gotten the "right" kind of attention, but you can't say Ruby was ever lonely.





She was a silly dog with a boundless amount of energy and a puppy spirit until almost the end.

She was Leo's first best friend and Ellie's first word.

And I realized the twins likely won't remember her, which seems unreal, since she was such an intrinsic part of our family. But I couldn't even find any pictures of them with her.

People are asking us if we'll get another dog. Probably? Someday? I think once you've had a dog it's hard to not have a dog.

But there will never be another Ruby.