PART ONE: A boy

CHAPTER ONE: A problem

The year was 2012. Sometime in January. My wife looked at me. Brown eyes piercingly serious. Shoulders back. Lips pursed. “I need a dog,” Faith said. “I am not waiting any longer.” Her clock had struck - her ship’d come in - her time had come. No more future talk. No more tomorrows and somedays. An imperative now: we needed to get a dog as soon as possible. “I’ve wanted a dog since I was a little girl,” she implored. “I’ve waited all my life. I’ve waited since we got married. I’m not waiting any longer!”

There were no more good reasons to not get a dog despite the reasons there were. And Faith was militant. An obnoxious evangelist born overnight. She pleaded her case at breakfast - while driving - on walks - drinking coffee. As if God Himself had set her to course: “Thou shalt get a dog this day!” She argued. Cried in frustration. Pushed and pushed and pushed. Unrelenting in her cause. There was but one thing standing in her way.

Me.

“I’m not ready for a dog,” I repeated. “We aren’t ready for a dog”. My hesitance - or my obstruction - was unflinching. Rigid. Cold. My heart was hard, unmoved by argumentation or emotion. I couldn’t see how we could get a dog. Keep one. Raise one. And Faith couldn’t see how she could have one without me. No matter how Faith tried, cried, and begged - I didn’t budge. “No.” “We can’t.” “Not now.” Unforgivable statements from an unforgivable position. 

Chinks in the amour; cracks in the trunk.

“Getting a dog right now is plain ridiculous!” I argued. “You want good reasons?! Buckle up. `Cause I’ve got `em!” I was just six months into my job - my first real full-time job! And we had just moved to a new town in a different part of the province. A region we’d never lived in, visited, or knew existed prior. We had no friends. Our families were hours away. Our townhouse was tiny. Two bedrooms and kitchen that sat (literally) three doors down from the church where I worked. Money was tight. After deductions, my “whopping salary” left just enough to squeak by. Any surplus we had we saved for a downpayment because “homeownership is our goal!” We had bills. Student debt. Responsibilities. Our car was a small aging hatchback. And oh - minor detail - we were brand parents to our 8 month old daughter. 

I was more than overwhelmed. Adulting wasn’t as fun as advertised. Getting a dog struck me as ill-timed. Juvenile. Irresponsible. “We will get a dog,” I reassured Faith. “But not now. Someday.” When it made more sense. Whatever that meant. 

Faith’s obsession was alarming. But her desire was not. 

I always knew Faith wanted a dog. She loved animals. Heck, on our first date we chased jack-rabbits through a blossoming apple orchard. It was sunsetting, pink-blossom-falling, furry-tailed-creature perfection! (You can’t make this stuff up!) I adored Faith’s whimsical care for creatures. I found it attractive. Exotic! Exciting and unfamiliar. Faith had grown up around animals. I did not. She had pets. I had none. Faith rode horses competitively and recreationally. I had never done anything of the sort. Faith had dogs. Loved dogs. Had even taken in an older dog in high school and renamed her Noel after her favourite holiday. We’d go the property where Noel was living. We’d bring her treats. Go on walks. We even considered taking Noel with us to British Columbia after we got married. Getting a dog had always been inevitable. I knew exactly what I was getting into when I said “I do.”

Yet somehow “getting a dog at this moment” had become a no-go. Our martial no-mans-land. A mud pit of tears and resentment. And a bitter stalemate. There was wedge between us, growing on the daily. Tearing, splitting, driving us a part. One of the rare times I felt unsettled in our marriage. It was sad. And confusing. Especially for me. 

Truth is - I had always wanted a dog too.