Nine years ago today, I adopted the love of my life, my amazing Great Dane, Marco! He turned ten this winter, but when I adopted him, he was about sixteen months old. Underweight and malnourished from living on the streets for an undetermined period, his foster mom brought him to a convention located about halfway between our respective Western Washington cities so we could meet and see if it was a good fit.
I saw him from about 50 feet away and knew he was there for me. For one thing, he was the only Great dane among a dozen smaller dogs also brought to the event to meet potential adopters, chilling in his very own playpen made from three foot plastic fencing. When I walked up, I was so focused on him I’m slightly embarrassed to admit I don’t at all remember what his foster looked like, even though we spoke for at least half an hour. AS soon as I walked up and reached out a hand to him, he jumped up with his front paws on the fence and sniffed my face and let me hold his adorable bisected mostly-black head in my hands. I didn’t know this at the time, but he already had early-onset arthritis in his front legs at this point, and as a result has never ever been a jumper. I mean at all, which just makes it all the more special. I also now know that being held by the face is a profound trauma trigger for him from anyone he doesn’t trust, which makes it all the more special that he seemingly trusted me from minute one.
We went for a walk outside the convention center with my dad and when, a few minutes in, he asked me if this was the one, I had no hesitation in saying I thought he was. We filled out the paperwork and payed his adoption fee and brought him home. We didn’t have supplies for him oso we stopped at petsmart on the way home. We got a big dog bed, a set of extra large stainless steel bowls we still use, and some of the food his foster had him on, as well as a new rebel alliance-themed collar and more robust leash, as the one his foster gave us was tiny and clearly meant for the small dogs she usually had. Then we stopped by the toy aisle, and he was in heaven. He sniffed and explored all around, picking out a soccer ball first, which we got, then finding a stuffed purple brontosaurus, and headed for the door. [hopefully insert pic of him with dino and first pic from the day we got him with mom’s face cropped.]
When I adopted him, his name was Apollo, but I didn’t think it suited him, and he didn’t respond to it at all, having only been picked up off the streets three weeks earlier. It was later that evening, when dad and I were taking him for his first walk in our neighborhood, when he got his name. We were less than two blocks away from our house (he couldn’t make it far at first due to malnutrition) when a pair of young kids approached and asked to pet him. I said yes and they asked his name. I replied that he didn’t have one yet, we’d only just gotten him that day. I asked the girl what she thought his name should be and without hesitation she said “Marci!” I have never seen the girl since, but I loved the name, and it seemed to suit him, so I kept it. It wasn’t until over a year later that my brother thought to ask if, given his house manners, being from near LA, and not responding to a single word of English when I adopted him, we’d ever tried commanding him in Spanish. By then, he’d learned his full English reprertoire, but it turned out he did and does also respond to commands in Spanish. And I happened to find him a name that’s the same, pronounced almost identically in both English and Spanish. He’s now more bilingual than I am, for sure, and will respond to full sentences in both languages, though he prefers Spanish when he’s not feeling well.
We had our growing pains, including severe separation anxiety for the first few months, but he’s taken on every obstacle fearlessly. He loves his toys and playing, even at age ten, but will also chase off any intruders with a deep bone-shaking bark in an instant if he senses something awry. He’s a total Velcro dog still, always wanting to be with his people, and though he takes a moment to build trust, especially with women a certain age and height, once he decides he trusts someone, they’re his friend for life. He loves cuddles and sitting in my lap. He knows every ledge and crevice of my wheelchair that can possibly be perched on for scratches, and loves rubbing and leaning on his peoples’ legs, mourning the loss of skin contact every fall when I switch from shorts back to long pants. He’s a blessing and the light of my life where things get really dark at times. I don’t know what I would do without him. He is, as my social media manager would say, my soul dog. Every trigger, every challenge, every frustrating moment is so immensely worth it for the love and companionship he gives me, expecting nothing but love and presence in return. Happiest Adoption Anniversary to my baby and I hope we get several more years together.