Nine years ago, Jason, his sister, and I went to Cobb County Animal Shelter. Jason had decided he was ready to get a dog, and he wanted to make sure whatever dog he got liked the people he spent a lot of time with.
We went in with a few dogs in mind that we had looked at on the website. We walked around, comparing our list to the ID numbers on kennels, not really super thrilled with our interactions - we just hadn't felt that spark yet. Then we came to the dog that we had ranked the lowest on our list (mainly because he was a little bigger than what we were thinking we wanted). We stopped in front of this medium sized, golden dog. He was the only dog in the whole warehouse-sized room that wasn't barking; he was just sitting quietly, watching. Even through we weren't supposed to, we reached through the fencing to pet him. He was quiet and sweet - almost timid. We were going to move on and look at the last dog on our list before coming back to take a couple - this one included - to the play room to get to know them better. But as we moved away, this quiet golden boy stood up on his hind legs, putting his paw through the fence, very obviously begging us, "don't go!" And that was it. That was the spark. Jason went to get an attendant to unlock the kennel while Paige and I stayed with "Cashew."
We took him to the playroom, but we already knew. After a while of playing with him, the attendant asked if we wanted to take him back and check another dog, but we were ready to adopt our boy. He never went back to that kennel. As Jason filled out the paperwork, several of the staff and volunteers came by to say goodbye to Cashew and wish him luck - apparently he was a favorite among the workers.
We took our quiet sweet boy home - and as soon as we got him out in the kitchen, he tackled me and started licking my ears. When it was time for me to head home that evening, I had the hardest time leaving. It had taken our boy - now Baldur - a while to get used to the idea that he had his own pillow to lay on. Jason and I had had to lay down on the floor with our heads on opposite corners of the pillow. He curled up between us and fell asleep. Tearing myself away from by boys was heart wrenching. I just wanted to stay there on the floor with them forever.
Our boy was so special. Everyone loved Baldur - he won over people who didn't like "big" dogs, and even people who were nervous around dogs. He was gentle with puppies, cats, babies, and guinea pigs. He would find the biggest dog at the dog park - 2-3 times bigger or taller than him - and gleefully body slam into them. (Imagine a Great Dane the size of a small horse looking down at this coffee table sized dog with a confused, "Do I know you?" expression.)
Everyone loved Baldur... and Baldur loved everyone. And we think that Baldur loved the tiny little sounds and movements in my stomach so much that he came back after he died to check on his baby sister.
Elianna - who was born three and a half months after we lost her brother - has always had a very odd connection to our Baldur memorabilia. We have a pillow with his picture on it that always calmed her down when she was colicky. She used to chat at the stuffed corgi on the shelf in her nursery. My mom has made her some little stuffed Baldur toys to nap with and to take to the doctor.
Recently, Elianna was at her very first dentist appointment. As expected of an 18 month old, she got upset by masked strangers poking at her mouth. She snuggled her Baldur the whole time and, according the dentist, actually did pretty well for her age. As a pediatric dentist, who I imagine is used to seeing teddies and lovies, dolls and blankies, she asked, "what's your doggie's name?" She was impressed that Elianna's stuffed toy had such a creative name - "if my kids had that doggie, he would probably just be 'Doggy' or 'Brown Doggy.'" I laughed and said that most of our toys were named that way too, and then told her Baldur's story. She and the nurse were rapt over the tale - Dr. Drew even saying she got chills when I said that the Baldur pillow had always calmed Elianna down without fail.
To my surprise, as we were gathering up our coats, Elianna held Baldur out to the dentist. Dr. Drew took him and very carefully made a big show of laying him down under the exam light, and touching his mouth with the pick and mirror she had used to check Elianna's teeth. "Oh, yes, Baldur has lots of nice strong teeth," she said, "you must take very good care of him!"
Even though Jason and I obviously miss our boy very much, we've come to terms with the idea that something of him lingers. Maybe he's a ghost. Maybe he's Elianna's guardian angel. But whatever term we put on it, Baldur - we still gotcha, buddy.
At least someone still gets to snuggle with Baldur.