Pure Joy (9 page)

More than once I have done something that no sane person should ever try to do: give someone I love a dog. It is an incredibly brave, and usually foolhardy, thing to do. And I have no idea why, but it has turned out well every time. It’s a very gutsy thing to do. One thing you should try to be sure of is that the recipient
really
wants a dog! (The antique dealer who sent me Greta had no idea if I wanted one, but that turned out happily too.)

When my kids were little, I gave them their dogs as gifts and surprised them. They had been asking for a dog for a while, and the gift was always met with squeals of delight. My oldest daughter picked her dog, and I surprised her with her second one, which was never really an exciting dog, so I guess that wasn’t a resounding success. Maxx’s first Boston bull, Annabelle, was a surprise, which gave him endless joy for
fourteen years. All three of Vanessa’s Yorkies were surprises, and all three were major hits. Victoria picked out both of her Chihuahuas, and Sam her miniature dachshund, and all were beloved dogs, and Victoria’s Chihuahua Tallulah still is.

But the really courageous and insane act has been giving dogs to friends, and each was a special case. The difficult thing with giving a dog to a friend is that sometimes people say they want something they really don’t. Or they think they do, but the reality is a lot different than the wish. A dog, and particularly a puppy, is a
lot
of work and can turn your life upside down. Suddenly you have to rush home from work to walk it, or hire a dog walker, which is expensive. You can’t leave for a weekend at the drop of a hat without figuring out what to do with the dog. And you can spend a lot of time walking, training, and cleaning up after it. They’re not just cute, they’re a lot of work. The reality may be more than a friend wants to cope with. But fools rush in where angels fear to tread, and I’ve cast my lot with the fools in the dog department, although I’ve gotten lucky with the end result. And I didn’t actually “rush” into it, in most cases. I thought about it for a while and tried to be sure they really meant it when they said they wanted a dog.

A close friend of mine had a terrible bout of cancer and really went through the agonies of the damned, with fantastic
results. She bravely faced the most aggressive treatments, and what was thought to be incurable cancer was cured in less than a year. It was truly a miracle, and I gave her a “miracle party” to celebrate her victory. For years she had said that she wanted a boxer, and with my heart in my throat, I decided to take her at her word. I found a good breeder and picked out a gorgeous dog for her, and the night of the party, I gave it to her. To say she looked stunned is a major understatement, and I’m sure as I gave it to her, she and her husband were thinking of the freedom they’d just lost. Their kids were grown, they love to travel, and having a dog at home was going to be a big change for them. I was terrified they’d refuse it, and instead they were both thrilled. They named the dog Miracle, she is now eight years old, and every chance they get, they tell me how much they love her. I was very lucky—it was just the right gift!! Looking back at some of the dogs I’ve given people, I don’t know where I got the courage to do it. But something told me it was just right. I haven’t done it often, but often enough to have potentially made some mistakes, but so far I haven’t. That’s a miracle in itself.

My next gift of a dog was equally brave, possibly even more so. A very, very dear friend, well into her eighties, had been struggling with cancer but was doing well. She was stable and seemed to have the situation in good control. She spent every
Thanksgiving with us, and that year she said more than once at dinner how much she wanted a dog. She had been “sharing” a dog with a friend who let her dog stay with her, and she said she was ready for her own.

My kids responded immediately as soon as my friend went home. “Mom, you have to get Isabella a dog!” I countered their pleas with reason—my friend wasn’t young, she’d been sick, she had help but lived alone. And unlike my other friend, she didn’t have a husband to help her with the dog. It seemed like a bad idea to me. My kids, who were all pretty much adults by then, insisted I had to give Isabella a dog. By that night they had convinced me, and on Monday morning I began a search for a dog. I still had misgivings about it, but my children wanted it to be a family gift from all of us, to this beloved friend who was practically a member of the family and was the godmother of one of my children. I figured that maybe my kids were smarter than I. And by the week before Christmas, what seemed like the right puppy had turned up. A small four-month-old Maltese, all fluffy and white. She was adorable when I saw her, and by then I knew my kids were right. All of the children were home for Christmas, and I could just imagine all of us presenting Isabella with the dog. She was going to be ecstatic (I hoped), and I came home to tell the kids, so we could plan to deliver the dog to her together. I
ran into one of the kids as soon as I got home and told her I’d found Isabella’s dog.

“Dog? What dog?” my daughter said, looking blank.

“You know, the dog you all wanted me to find for Isabella. I found her an adorable Maltese.”

“Are you insane?” my daughter asked me. “She’s too old for a dog, and she’s sick. Why would you get her a dog?” My daughter looked at me as if I’d lost my mind, and I wondered if I had.

“You guys told me to get a dog for her, remember, after Thanksgiving dinner …”

“We never told you that.” Had I imagined it? I went upstairs and found the others. It was unanimous. I was nuts. I had imagined it. And none of them would admit to thinking it was a brilliant idea a month before. (Kids are definitely more difficult than dogs.)

“Listen, guys, you told me to find her a dog. I did. You can deny it if you want. Now we have this dog, and I want you to come with me when we give it to her.” By then I was sounding desperate, but not nearly as panicked as I felt. I’d been had. My sense of romance and fantasy had run away with me, and I had followed up on a suggestion none of them wanted to remember or to participate in now.

“We can’t, we’re busy.” One of them had kickboxing, another
had a Pilates class. My son had a big date with his girlfriend. The girls had manicures and pedicures scheduled. Not one of them would face the music with me, and I was stuck with this dog, and by then I was sure that Isabella would think I was even crazier than they did. I felt like a total idiot. I even called the breeder and warned her I might have to bring it back. I was sure the kids were right, and Isabella wouldn’t want this dog. I went downstairs and had a long conversation with the dog, apologizing in advance for what I was sure was going to be a short visit to Isabella when she would look at me in horror and give me back the dog. Whose idea was this anyway, and why had I fallen for it?

I had gotten everything she could possibly need for the dog, gates, a playpen, blankets, Wee-Wee Pads, food, toys, bowls, collar, leash, just about everything but a driver’s license and its own car. The dog came fully loaded, and I drove to my friend’s house on Christmas Eve, with the dog looking mournfully at me. She looked like she was wondering how I’d gotten her into this, and I was asking myself the same thing. I was braced to have my loving, gracious friend throw the dog at me, or maybe slam the door in my face. Just as I had fantasized a happy reunion initially, I was imagining utter rejection on the drive to her house.

We arrived at her very respectable building, where the
doorman watched me unload the car, looking like a refugee, or at least like I was moving in, with my mountain of accessories for the dog. “Cute dog,” he said, and I was ready to give her to him. I was almost too chicken to go upstairs with all the stuff, and the dog. He helped me get it all up to her apartment, and I took the dog in my arms and rang the doorbell with literally trembling knees. I felt like a complete jerk. “Hi Isabella, my kids told me to get you a dog, and now they think it’s a terrible idea, so here it is.…” As I rang the bell, I could perfectly envision her refusing the dog and ushering me out. She had been a loving surrogate mother to me since I’d come to California thirty years before, as a young girl, long before I had my own family. Isabella had no children of her own and was a superior court judge until she retired. And with no children to visit her, it made the dog seem almost like a good idea. Almost, but not totally. I had no inkling how she’d react.

She came to the door to put me out of my misery at last. I knew she was having chemotherapy that day, which she was taking in stride, and had insisted she would be up to a visit at the appointed time. It was Christmas Eve. I looked at her sheepishly when she opened the door and smiled at me. “What’s that?” she asked, as she saw the dog. I handed the little ball of white fluff to her and said, “She’s yours. Merry
Christmas, Isabella, I got you a dog.” It seemed pointless to remind her that she’d said she wanted one, since my kids didn’t remember it either. Her eyes opened wide, and she took the dog from me immediately. She walked straight to a chair, put the dog on her lap, and began stroking her lovingly with a look of total bliss. The dog looked at me haughtily with an expression of “You can go now. I’m home.”

My jaw nearly dropped. The dog never moved an inch off her lap, as Isabella beamed at me, and said, “I’m going to name her Trixie. That was the name of my first dog.” By then I was crying, I was so happy, and Isabella truly looked like a kid at Christmas. Everything about the scene was exactly what Christmas should be—it was all about a kid and getting a puppy from Santa. I took out a disposable camera I had thought to put in my pocket, and took a roll of pictures of Isabella and Trixie, and then showed her all the equipment I’d brought. She looked amazed and pleased as she held Trixie in her arms. By then Trixie was ignoring me completely. I had served my purpose, and as far as Trixie was concerned, I’d been dismissed. And although she usually liked long visits, Isabella then walked me to the door, wished me a Merry Christmas, kissed me, and said “Thank you for my dog.” And the next thing I knew, I was in the elevator laughing and smiling and crying. I had never seen anything so sweet in my life.
I don’t think I’d ever seen Isabella so happy in thirty years. I drove home still smiling and was walking on air when I got home. She had just made Christmas for me. The crazy gift had been a smashing success. I told the kids about it, and they all shook their heads, unable to believe what I’d done.

Isabella and Trixie: love at first sight
Danielle Steel

It really was one of my best Christmases, just remembering the look on Isabella’s face, and the dog looked as though she knew she belonged with her. And I expected to hear from Isabella the next day, letting me know about their first night together. But I didn’t hear a word. Three days went by, and I got nervous, and knowing how polite Isabella was, I had the sinking feeling that maybe it was too much for her, and she was too embarrassed to complain. Puppies take time to settle in sometimes and can be difficult at first. Finally, I couldn’t stand it, so I called. Isabella answered immediately, and I said I was wondering how things were going, and wanted to make sure she was okay and that the dog wasn’t too much for her. She sounded instantly panicked and said, “No, no, we’re fine. She’s perfect. I love my dog. Goodbye.” I wound up grinning all over again. Isabella was afraid that I was trying to take back her dog, which I surely wasn’t.

A year and a half later, at the age of eighty-nine, Isabella watched a movie with her uncle in it. He was the famous actor Edward Everett Horton. Apparently she laughed a lot
at the film, took a nap afterwards, and never woke up. I was deeply saddened at the loss of my friend but was so happy the dog had given her so much joy. And after they called to tell me, I wondered what would happen to Trixie and half-expected her family would ask me to take the dog back. Instead, they told me what a hard time they were having over Trixie, because everyone wanted the adorable dog Isabella had loved so much. Her friends and family were asking for her, and they finally gave Trixie to Isabella’s brother, and she moved on to yet another adoring family and remained in good hands. It was the perfect end of the story and was surely the happiest gift I had ever given anyone. When I think of Isabella now, I think of that incredible Christmas Eve. I still have some of the photographs (I framed most of them for Isabella), with Isabella beaming and Trixie happily sitting on her knees. It personified Christmas for me, and I will never forget that day, or how terrified I was!