PART TWO / CHAPTER SIX

Seek and ye shall find

“If you want to put in an offer… you’ll need to do it today.”

Besides the empty oil drum the basement was clean, open, and dry. A mammoth hand-hewn beam spanned overhead. Some fifty or sixty feet. Massive joists locked overtop, spreading to the field stone foundation beyond. It felt oddly homey. Protected. How Jonah must have felt inside the big wooden whale.

We had just toured the upstairs. All the bedrooms, bathrooms, and kitchen. Impressed by the fifteen foot ceilings, open concept, and the wood stove most of all. The basement was our last stop. A final inspection of the electrical panel and water heater. And a quiet place to chat all things dates, and prices, and market valuations. We’d been hunting since early spring for our first house and had given our realtor a run. We’d put in a couple of offers on a couple “fixer-uppers” without luck. One was outright rejected by the seller. The other was outright rejected by CMCH (cause’ it wasn’t insurable!) As first time home buyers with a single income we didn’t have a lot to play with. But ever the fussy one I still wanted something special. Something unique. And I knew we’d found it. 

Our church house.  

But here’s a little secret about me: I’m not known for making decisions. I rank with the best of the worst when it comes to procrastinating, nailing down plans, choosing options, or making choices. Even when it’s obvious. Given time and space I will take as much time and space as I possibly can before I decide anything. And our realtor knew it. I was waffling. Waiting. Faith and I both terrified to make a wrong choice. Yet we knew that in this case it wasn’t possible. The church house was more than perfect. It was perfect. 

“You must also know that a conditional offer on this house has recently fallen through. And I’m afraid that if you don’t put in an offer in now…” our realtor repeated. “You will lose this house.”

He turned to me and shrugged a classic Jim Halpert. Eyebrows raised. Head titled. Half smirking smile. A look that says I’m-not-sure-what-else-to-tell-you? More accurately: stop being an idiot. But he wasn’t being pushy. He was warning me. The church house had only been on the market for a few days and already had multiple showings with more scheduled. More offers would start pouring in and we only had hours to decide our next move. I knew he was right.

Sorry Mr. Bond, “there’s no time to [wait]”. Twas’ now or never. Sign or resign!

Spoiler. We signed. And 44 2nd Ave has been our home ever since. 

Chance. Happenstance. Providence. 

I’ve given up trying to sort out which is which. Who was where. Or why was when. My life has been a series of purposeful coincidences. Accidental intentions. Missed opportunities that become opportunities. Many rivers running. Cross-stitching and colliding yet concurrent. Bobbing from chaos to order and somewhere in between. And yet it all works. Like a puzzle with missing pieces but somehow still fits. Makes sense. Becomes right when it should be wrong. There’s secret in the sauce. I don’t know what it is - but it’s tasty. Life hardly ever goes the way I think it should, or when. Certainly, never obvious in the moment. But life has a funny way of working out. Even when it doesn’t. I don’t believe in fate. Nor do I think God has a detailed mapped out plan for my life. I don’t know what it is. Or how it works. It just does.

Despite me being an idiot.

I’d like to say that buying our church house was an anomaly. That I learned to trust my gut. Follow my instincts. Believe in something. Or just “make a decision already!” But I’d be lying. Overlay this story onto a hundred others and you’ll see my pattern: preparedness, procrastination, and pressure. Almost every major decision life was/has/is made the same way. I research and (over)think [prepare]. Then I wait to make the call [procrastinate]. Until some external force makes it unbearable and I have to make a decision [pressure]. Cars. School. Bills. Kids. Tis’ all the same to me. 

Why would the search for a dog be any different?! 

Faith had already spent months searching for the perfect dog long before I had “agreed” to get one. She had been looking for just-the-right breed for our growing family. We preferred a male dog with a good temperament. Big but not slobbery. Fast but not high-energy. Friendly but not Hey!-I’ll-be-your-best-friend-with-everyone kind of friendly. Loyal. Long haired. And loving. My contribution to the conversation was paltry and forgettable. I wanted a mutt. A mixed breed original. “Mutts are healthier!” I argued. But it was a cover to hide my true feelings. A disguise my wife saw through like a cheap discounted Halloween costume. In truth, I wanted a unique dog that no one else had just to prove how unique I was. Full on Ryan Howard. I wanted an outsider.

“No,” Faith said. “That’s stupid.” 

Besides, she had already sussed it out. Chosen the breed. The perfect dog. “I think we should get a Bernese Mountain Dog,” she said. “They’re affectionate, loyal, and good with kids.” They’re also low energy. And she claimed, they “hardly shed” (yeah right!). It all sounded right. A Bernese Mountain Dog was an easy sell. The hunt was on. 

Preparedness: check. 

Faith called around. Checked websites. Chatted with breeders and secured a visit to the only Bernese farm in the area. Where, in just one visit, three things were confirmed: 1. Bernese Mountain Dog puppies are the most adorable creatures on earth, 2. Faith had made the right choice, 3. Bernese Mountain Dog puppies were not cheap. One too many zeros; a touch out of reach. And now we had another problem. We knew what we wanted but couldn’t afford to follow through. A will without a way. Even the “pre-owned” puppies were too expensive. We almost considering re-homing a one-year-old puppy named Louie. But don’t let the word puppy confuse you. Bernese Mountain Dogs grow quickly and Louie was already 70-80 pounds and nearing full height. He was also past the crucial bonding stage. Meaning, Louie may never attach to another family quite the same as his first. We left the breeder with a lot to consider. 

But I wasn’t in a hurry. Consideration is my middle name. Overthinking is what I do! Loitering in the in-between is where I spend most of my time! It’s my comfy place. There was no rush! I could sit on the couch of indecision dithering and dallying for years. 

Procrastination: check. 

Weeks passed. And then one day…

Late April. Early Sunday afternoon. Around lunchtime. Church was over and it was time to nap. I was tired. Peopled-out. My feet weary after my long 100ft walk home. Faith and our toddler were sitting on the living room floor when she looked up at me and said, “We’re getting a dog today.”

Pardon me? 

Not Louie. We’d decided he wasn’t the right fit. Was there another breeder? No. What was Faith talking about - getting a dog. What dog? Where? How much? Now?! 

“What?!” I asked, startled. “Yes. A puppy.” Faith replied.

“I found a local breeder who has a litter of pure bred Bernese Mountain pups. Well, not an actual breeder. More of a dog owner who’s bred her Bernese to breed and has a litter to sell. She’s just testing it all out. She’s never bred her dogs before. It’s really random actually. Super lucky. But most of the puppies have already been claimed. And you know how hard it is to find Bernese puppies. Especially in this area. And we don’t want to go to the city. That’s lame. And I got scared. I didn’t want to miss the chance. I had no time to wait. You were gone and I couldn’t talk to you. And there was only one male in the whole litter and if I didn’t act we’d lose him and may never find another puppy like this one…” 

“So I claimed him. We’re picking him up this evening…”

Pressure: check. 

The rest is a blur. Spotty memories of a parking lot. Faith’s smile. The warm sun. That kind woman who randomly started breeding Bernese Mountain Dog puppies just 10 minutes out of town. Her van. And Bhaer. Our Bernese Mountain Dog pup.

I can remember his soft black and white fur. Chestnut brown patches. Soulful brown eyes. He was the most adorable and terrifying creature I had ever seen. And one of the best decisions I was ever forced to make.

Seek and ye shall find. On Kijiji of all places.