Bringing Our Dog to China

Sometime early last spring, when we were deciding about extending our stay here, Mr Johnson blurted out a proposal to The Three @ the dinner table.

"Hey... maybe we can bring Guinnea Pal," he said.

While I'm sure that he did actually say the word 'maybe', I am equally sure I was the only one who heard it.

The girls were ecstatic. And it was hard not to share their enthusiasm. (Although someday in the future, when we look down the long and blissful annals of our married years, this will no doubt stand out as "one-of-the-things-we-should-have-talked-about-before-telling-the-kids.)

For his part, Mr Johnson did the research and the running. To the USDA office. The airport. He made endless phone calls to the Korean airline. He did on-line research. And, he had an office assistant check out the details for the China side. (My mother-in-law, who not only kept our pet for four years whilst we lived abroad, also did a fair bit of leg-work on her end as well.)

Mr Johnson scoops the poop in the back yard (quite interestingly, the girls have volunteered for this job, but I, in my squeamishness, have denied them the privilege, fearful of a messy project becoming potentially messier!) He rises bleary-eyed 10 minutes earlier than before to escort the dog to the back corner of the yard for her morning piddle (who knew that female dog urine, especially the first pee of the day, kills grass?) When she was scared of the Chinese fireworks, he carried her up the stairs to our second floor bedroom "just this once" (until, of course the next holiday with fireworks.) For the record, she chose to sleep on the floor beside my side of our king size bed and periodically came over to be petted during especially loud explosions of fireworks.

The girls are chipping in too. They feed her and give her water. They brush her. And fight over who's turn it is to walk her to the bus stop. They sweep and vacuum her areas. They talk to her like she's a member of family. (Which of course, I, the-non-animal-person-of-the-fam, now realize she is.)

For her part, Miss Guinness stays in her designated areas. She walks to the threshold of the kitchen but not in it. She stands outside E's open bedroom door and wags her tail in a daily morning greeting, but sets not a paw into her room. She is adjusting to living with all of us again. To being inside more than outside. And to the loud swirl of a foreign language on her long walks. She is warming up to crossing the street, despite busy traffic and loud buses... to sea side walks and trips down to the water's edge.

Perhaps most enduringly, she comes over with her wet nose and nudges my elbow upwards. She does it to all of us. When we're on the computer, or watching TV, or reading or gathered on the couch @ the end of the day. So we indulge her, we take a break from whatever we are doing, and pat our old friend who is slowly finding her way in a a new land.

Old dogs, like old shoes, are comfortable.

They might be a bit out of shape

and a little worn around the edges,

but they fit well.

- Bonnie Wilcox