We Adopted a Dog During a Pandemic
but had no idea what we signed up for.
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After years of talking about it as a “someday” thing, my husband Blaine and I finally decided to get a dog this year. It wasn’t a spur of the moment decision; getting one was inevitable. In fact, I had practically built my personality around perpetually wanting (but never actually getting) a dog in my twenties. As a couple, one of our favorite games to play was looking at dogs on the street and guessing their name. Or, even better, trying to imagine which celebrity they most resemble. It cannot be overstated how enjoyable this game is. It also cannot be overstated how many dogs have the essence of Nicole Kidman. She is everywhere.
Still, despite our mutual love of and desire for a pup of our own, we’d always put it off because of one thing or another. We had a roommate, we traveled a lot, we were too busy with work, we were planning the wedding, or we couldn’t afford it. Finding reasons not to get a dog was simple.
This year started just the same. We couldn’t get a dog because we had already been going through plenty of significant life changes. For one thing, I started a new day job on March 2nd after spending the better part of a year freelancing. Before that, in January, we moved from Harlem (141st & Lennox), where we’d lived for five years with a roommate, to a place of our own in West New York. Most people think it’s some weird inside joke when I say “West New York,” but it’s not. Our town is literally called West New York. The twist is that it is actually in New Jersey. So I guess it is a bit of a joke. I like to refer to our neighborhood as a New Jersey for New Yorkers who are in denial about living in New Jersey.
When the Covid-19 pandemic hit New York City in March, our perspective changed. As it did for most of the world, our lives changed immediately. Instead of averaging twelve-plus hours away from our apartment, we were spending almost twenty-four hours inside of it. Thank god we’d moved to the new place because I don’t think we could have done the lockdown in our old apartment. Though the new one is technically smaller, there is a gorgeous view of the river and city, a balcony on which we can get fresh air, and - the holy grail - a washer/dryer. The old place had none of that.
But, even with the perks of this new apartment, we still found ourselves challenged by this new life. We needed to mix it up. Being accustomed to a go-go-go lifestyle, the quick flip to single-space days was mentally and physically challenging. So we decided to get out and learn the neighborhood a bit. Businesses were entirely closed, but we could take masked and socially distanced walks on the river and through the more fancy neighborhoods more inland.
Situated right on the Hudson River, directly across from 57th Street in Manhattan, we found that our neighborhood was extremely dog-friendly. Taking walks on the promenade at any hour of the day, it seemed like everyone we walked by had a dog (or two or three) of their own. It was like a Nicole Kidman movie marathon! And soon we found that we were taking these walks every day, over and over.
“Wouldn’t it be nice if we had a little smoosh of our own, though?” I’d dream out loud to Blaine. He’d agree.
As was customary, we’d explore the what-ifs of getting a dog and then promptly try to talk ourselves out of it. But the excuses started drying up quickly. Roommate? Not anymore. Money? I had secured this new job, thus creating a bit more of a stable financial situation for both of us. Travel? LOL! We weren’t supposed to be leaving our apartment, much less going out of town. What about time to actually train the dog? Would there ever be a moment in our lives where we had this much guaranteed time together at home? Outside of hypothetically buying a human child one day and taking parental leave, the answer to that last one was “no.” The legitimate reasons not to get a dog weren’t so easy to find any longer.
So we decided it was time, and, seemingly overnight, I became that guy - the guy who researches everything and checks adoption websites incessantly. While others were taking on puzzles, making viral “wash your hands” videos, and baking banana bread, I was becoming a K-9 connoisseur. To this day, if you need help manipulating the search functionality on PetFinder, I am probably the one you should talk to.
Not too long after beginning our search, we applied for a dog. A giant Yorkie called “Groot” on the adoption website. If you haven’t ever seen a giant Yorkie before, please take a moment to check them out. They’re just Yorkies but huge. Like you know how there are runs of the litter? It turns out there can be giants of the litter too? And this little dog Groot was a purebred Yorkie that got put up for adoption by the breeders because he was a giant. IDIOTS.
When we put in that application, my heart swelled. I was falling in love with Groot. I had visions of him traipsing around our apartment, jumping on the couch, snoozing on the balcony in breezy summer afternoons. I imagined full conversations with the neighbors who would ask about his breed, unable to accept that he wasn’t a mutt but was just a Yorkie. A big gorgeous, magical overgrown giant Yorkie. I was ready to be Groot’s Dad.
Days went by. And more days. But we never heard anything from the rescue about Groot. So I lurked online like a master hacker/stalker/psychopath and learned that his foster mom had adopted Groot. A “foster fail.” Looking at her Instagram and realizing that she had renamed him Chewy, my little heart sank. That was supposed to be our dog…we learned quickly that this wasn’t going to be as easy as we thought.
Covid-19 lockdowns created a massive boom in pet adoptions, and every organization we went to was inundated with applications. Time and time again, we’d put in applications and hear nothing. Over the course of almost two months, we searched online every day. We called, we donated, we lurked on social media pages trying to increase recognition of our names. We applied for roughly 40 or more dogs but were not getting any response from the rescues. It got to the point that we really almost gave up.
Part of our struggle, we thought, was that we had so many specifics. The dog needed to be okay as an only child, good in an apartment, young-ish (but not necessarily a puppy), and truly hypoallergenic because of Blaine’s allergies. Combining all of these needs with the fact that we were first-time adopters and Covid was like a perfect recipe for frustration.
The plight was so challenging that we even started looking into breeders. Obviously, we did not want to use a breeder, but we were getting nowhere with the rescues, and it was clear that those dogs were finding homes without issue. So we convinced ourselves it was worth taking a look. Exploring breeder options, though, none of it felt good. These dogs were so expensive, there were months-long waiting lists, and we were really having trouble with the broad idea of not adopting. For us, that was the ideal way to go. But still, we were getting nowhere, and we knew that this was the right time for us to get a dog. We were feeling really stuck.
Then, on a random Monday in May, our new apartment’s management company shared that they would be hosting a virtual pet adoption Q&A with a few humane societies and rescues. Stubbornly, I almost waved it off - convinced it was a waste of time. I was the K-9 connoisseur, remember? I knew everything.
Spoiler alert: I did not know everything.
Blaine, with all his kind-hearted optimism, attended. One of the panelists was a representative from Liberty Humane Society in Jersey City who said that though all their pets had been adopted out, they still encouraged folx to put in general applications. This way, when they inevitably got new animals in, they could expedite the adoption process. So, as we had so many times before, Blaine filled out the application and hit submit.
By that time, it should be clear that we were pretty disenchanted with the whole process. There was very little hope that the application would amount to anything. But the very next morning, while out for a run, Blaine got a phone call. They had a dog that had just gotten to the shelter. They hadn’t even put her up online for the public yet, but the gentleman on the phone said that he’d seen our application, and she seemed to be a perfect match. He sent this photo.
‘Uni,’ the name the shelter had given her just days before, was a three-year-old Shih Tzu+ mix. She was a stray with no tags or microchip. Other than that, there was no juicy story about her past the rescue could relay to us. All they had to offer was that she “just seem(ed) like a pretty good little dog.” She wasn’t presenting any notable personality or medical issues, and so the person we spoke with said we needed to let them know right away. If we didn’t take her, someone else definitely would.
Naturally, our first instinct was to arrange a meeting with Uni but, because of Covid, they were not doing any meet and greets with the pets. It made sense, but that was a scary thought. What if the dog didn’t bond with us? What if we didn’t bond with her? What if she was mean or insurmountably scared of us?
Could we really adopt a dog without ever meeting it?
This would have been the perfect opportunity for us to come up with some excuse again. We could wait for another dog at a different rescue, we could go to a breeder, or we could give up altogether because the process was far too frustrating. But we talked about it. We asked every question we could think of. And then, leaning toward yes, they sent us another photo, and I promptly died.
Of course, it wasn’t the same as actually meeting her, but something in her eyes made it clear; we knew that this dog was ours. So we said yes!
She had to get fixed before the humane society would adopt her to us, so we had to wait two days before getting her. Her surgery was scheduled to be done in the early afternoon on Thursday, but we were allowed to get her on surgery day by around five o’clock.
Being the carless New Yorker’s in denial about living in New Jersey that we were, we had to enlist help in actually picking her up. Our friend Paul came through, though, and drove us. He is a magic diamond of a friend, and we love him.
Because of Covid, the humane society was doing “no-touch” adoptions. So we had to stay in the car when we got there. They had a volunteer carry Uni out to the car and place her into the back seat. Blaine was waiting in the back for her, and I was in the front seat, basically just screaming.
When they set her down, I lost my breath. She was tiny, tender, matted, absolutely filthy with dirt. Having just had surgery a couple of hours before, she was definitely out of it, but the way she looked into Blaine’s eyes almost made me physically explode. This was our dog.
When we brought her home, we knew it would be a challenging first few days. She’d just had surgery. We still didn’t know if she was potty trained or if she had any major emotional trauma that would show up. We still really didn’t know much at all. Just that she “seem(ed) like a pretty good little dog.”
The first night was the most challenging. Because there were so many unknowns, we didn’t want to leave her alone. Blaine and I took two-hour shifts with her on the living room floor to be with her throughout the night. We’re both tender-hearted, so it was hard to see her so uncomfortable and confused, but we knew that she’d be better off than waking up alone in the dark if someone was there. I’m glad we did that. She’d pass out from exhaustion and then startle awake, unsure of where she was. Amazingly, though, she started looking for us immediately. She’d sniff around and connect her little nose to our wrist or kneecap, and then, after recognizing our scent, she’d go back to sleep. The cycle repeated all night.
By the next day, her personality started to come in. To my delight, she began playing with a small stuffed duckie toy I’d chosen for her, and we breathed a deep sigh of relief. Now we could start experiencing life with this dog.
One elephant in the room was that name: Uni. “Uni” was absolutely not this dog’s name. But Blaine and I were determined not to name her until we’d been with her long enough to know her personality. If she was a Nicole Kidman, we couldn’t very well go around calling her Viola Davis! So, seeing her with that toy was an exciting moment.
Based on the pictures alone, we considered the name ‘Twyla,’ inspired by the character on Schitt’s Creek. She seemed a little dopey, sweet, and soft. Once we’d met her, though, it was clear that this was not a Twyla either.
But who was she? She had a hard edge about her that was undeniable. This lady had seen some shit. Sure, everything about her seemed to indicate that she was well-kept and loved early in her life, but she was a stray when the humane society found her. So what happened? This was no delicate flower - no no. Our young lady had fire! But still, we had trouble figuring it out and labored over the options.
We created a narrative about her to help. She’d had a privileged puppyhood. She was well-loved, wealthy, and treated like a princess. But things took an unfortunate turn that left her roughing it. It was uncomfortable at first because she’d never known a life of hardship, but eventually, she found her way. The challenges and the process of overcoming them became a part of her truth, and she was better off because of it all. It was a real Goldie Hawn in Private Benjamin storyline, now that I think of it…
Okay, another spoiler alert. We did not name the dog “Goldie.” Looking at that side-by-side and recounting the narrative we’d originally come up with about the dog’s life, it would have been a great fit. Or at least a close-enough fit. But really, I’m just learning this now, so whatcha gonna do?
Regardless, we needed to find a name that could match all of that.
Early in quarantine, we’d re-watched the Hunger Games movies and found a mirroring character arc in Effie Trinket, the Capitol-born escort assigned to District 12. After almost three whole days of searching for the perfect name, it became clear. This was our Effie Trinket. Which became Effie Trinket Johnston Kimple, Attorney at Law. And also Effie White. But also Effeanor. Or Effie-Lou. Or Smoosh. Or Beauty Queen. Or any of the other million names we call her daily. But, officially, it’s Effie Trinket.
Our Effie.
This Saturday, November 21st, was Effie’s half-birthday. Sort of. We don’t know what her actual birthday is, but we do know that it was the six month anniversary of her adoption day, so we’re running with it. Her ‘half-gotchaday’ doesn’t have the same ring to it.
After six months with Effie, we know so much more about her than we did the day we agreed to adopt her. Now we know that she is a fierce protector. She is a cuddler, an adventurer, and a little bit diva about grass. She likes to have her ears cleaned and hates to have her teeth cleaned. She tolerates bath time, and when she sees a squirrel, she might as well be seeing god. Much like me, she is not very food-motivated and sometimes needs to be tricked into eating dinner. She is protective over her bones and blankets. She likes to yell at dogs that are bigger than her. She has an undeniable affinity for Yorkies (which I choose to believe is somehow connected to our failed attempt at adopting Groot). She has alter-egos! There is ‘Elaine’ when she is very alpha and dominant, and there is ‘Weasel’ when she is a hunter. She is jealous. She goes insane for a bully stick. She travels well and loves being carried in a backpack. She sleeps right next to the door when we leave the house. She barks at every sound she hears in the hallway. Her best friend is a ten-year-old Yorkie from our apartment building named Gianni Versace (with the real Versace collar). She likes to play ball in the hallway, and when she snores, it makes me feel like a successful parent.
Getting Effie was easily one of the best things I’ve ever done in my life and, though I can’t really speak for him, I think that Blaine would say the same. She has brought indisputably powerful energy to our home, strengthened the partnership that we have as husbands, and taught me a bit about what it means to love something more than I love myself. Sure, the adoption process was a bit more long-winded than we naively thought that it would be, but, in the end, it brought us to a happily-ever-after ending.
I’m completely obsessed with Effie, and anyone that knows me can corroborate that as an unexaggerated fact. I went from being the K-9 connoisseur to being just an Effie connoisseur, helicopter-dad. And, because of that, I can say that the gentleman from the humane society was actually wrong when he said that she was just “a pretty good little dog.”
She is an incredible little dog. She is a magical, silly, brazen, muffiny, loud, demonic, angelic, adorable, great little dog.
She is a perfect little dog.
You can follow casual updates from Effie on Instagram @Effie_On_Mane
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Meant to be!!! Beautiful story!! Love you Effie!!!