A road trip for JoJo

 

It was 6:30 pm on a Friday and I was picking up take-out dinner when my phone rang.

 

A lady’s voice on the other end asked, “I was just calling to find out what time you would be coming to pick up JoJo tomorrow?”

 

I stopped in stunned silence. “Excuse me?” I said.

 

The lady’s voice on the phone continued, “Weren’t you the one whose friend came to visit JoJo last Saturday?”

 

“Yes,” I answered, still confused.

 

“Well, your friend said that you wouldn’t be able to come to get him until tomorrow (Saturday),” she said part statement, part question.

 

“I’m confused,” I replied, “I called on Tuesday and was told that JoJo had been adopted.”

 

“You are Julie?” she asked.

 

“Yes,” I said again.

 

“We told your friend that you were the best fit for JoJo and she said you would be able to come and complete the adoption papers to pick him up on Saturday. I just need to know what time you are going to be here tomorrow,” she finished.

 

My mind whirled. This was not in my plans. JoJo was a six-hour drive away. I had already let go of the idea of adopting JoJo. I was leaving on another trip in 4 days.

 

Then my brain just went blank. I didn’t know what to do.

 

“I know it’s late on a Friday,” I said, “Can I call you back in 20 minutes?”

 

“Yes, I’m working late this evening,” she agreed.

 

Navigating the loss of a pet

About seven months prior, I was just getting back on my feet after a debilitating illness. I knew my precious Rossi dog potentially had a tumor, but he had rallied and been my constant companion when I was sick.

 

A couple of weeks after I returned to work, he had a seizure. The doggie CT scan had already been scheduled for that coming week, but I knew his prognosis and quality of life deteriorating.

 

Immediately when I saw the CT image and the size of the tumor in my sweet boy’s head, displacing his left eye and invading his brain, I knew it was time to say goodbye that day. It was what I would want someone I loved to do for me.

 

I barely had the strength to cry and at the same time, all I could do was cry. The waves of sobs would continue for weeks.

Mochi and Rossi had been companion canines for over a decade. Mochi is a sweet girl who is sensitive and has high anxiety. For the next few days, she howled in mourning.

 

While I desperately needed a dog to cuddle and comfort me, she went into vigilant guard dog mode barking at every sound and movement.

 

We were not meeting each other’s needs.

 

And she hated being alone while I was working, protesting loudly and pacing the house, only to collapse in exhaustion when I returned home.

 

Time is on your side, everyone said. My grieving slowly eased, but her anxiety did not let up. She did not want to be alone, at all, ever.

 

It felt like I became the mother I never really wanted to be, constantly worrying about her. Arranging for her to be with family or friends while I was at work and fitting in the drop-offs and pick-ups around my clinic schedule drained what little energy I had.

 

This was not sustainable.

Searching

I knew that neither Mochi nor I could manage a puppy, although I visited a few. I watched and even applied for a few terrier rescues, but few were a good match, and none worked out. I needed an older dog who was also good with another dog.

 

Then one day I saw a cross-post on a rescue page for a Scottie mix at a humane society in Long Beach, WA. He was supposedly 12 years old and good with other dogs. He didn’t look like a Scottie but he had one adorable floppy ear and his name was JoJo.

 

I could have the “MoJo.” The thought made me smile.

 

As I am prone to doing, I ruminated on the idea for a few days before calling the humane society and inquiring about JoJo. He was an escape artist, I was told, who was a recurring visitor until he was finally given up for adoption.

 

“Did I have a yard that would be adequately secure?” I was asked.

 

“Yes, I do,” I replied.

A six-hour road trip, one-way, is no small feat to visit a rescue dog. But I had an idea.

 

A previous dog sitter of mine was finishing her student teaching in that area. Perhaps she could go meet JoJo and see what she thought before I made the trip. She agreed to visit.

 

She scheduled an appointment that Saturday and visited JoJo. Her opinion was that he would get along well with Mochi but that’s all she said to me.

 

As the humane society was closed on Sunday and Monday, I waited until noon on Tuesday to call and follow up. The person who answered seemed hurried and a bit confused but finally told me that it looked like JoJo had been adopted already.

 

Disappointment once again swept over me. I was still struggling with my physical energy and this rollercoaster of emotions was exhausting. I didn’t say anything to anyone and silently grieved what could have been.

 

Unexpected decisions

I arrived at my friend’s house with the take-out and spilled out the details of the previous week and the surprise phone call from the humane society. “Unbeknownst to me, JoJo has been kept at the humane society all week because he was adopted by me. What should I do?” I asked them.

 

“You should go,” was their opinion. Perhaps it was one of those weird signs from the universe.

 

“But I can’t do that long trip by myself right now, especially in January,” I whined.

 

Usually, my friend N is up for a last-minute road trip, but I could tell she was on the fence about this one.

 

I had minutes before I would need to call the kind lady at the humane society with an answer.

 

I called another friend J. “You up for a crazy road trip tomorrow to look at a dog?” I asked.

 

“Let’s go,” he said, “What time do you want to leave?” It’s good to have ‘yes’ friends in a pinch.

 

“Early,” I replied.

 

A road trip

As the winter dawn light spread across the highway the next morning, we were driving along the Columbia River Gorge with the Mochi dog. My stomach was a bit knotted with the last-minute adventure and potential decision about adopting a new dog.

 

It was a typical January day in the Pacific Northwest—gray. Low clouds hung over the Columbia River and although the roads were dry, the contrast was blah. As the miles ticked by, we watched for the big horned sheep often seen in this area but only spotted eagles fishing along the shores.

 

Finally, we turned north, crossing the Columbia River and heading up the Pacific coast. My nervousness increased. I didn’t know how to decide about adopting a dog in this situation. I just wanted to ease the stress that both Mochi and I were experiencing.

 

We were ushered into a rather muddy fenced play area behind the humane society building. A chilly breeze was in the air. I was now feeling downright panicked.

 

JoJo was a skinny little mongrel with his charcoal hair sheered short making his long legs look even more gangly. He was not a Scottish terrier mix, but rather a Schnauzer mix. I’m not into Schnauzers I thought disappointedly.

 

He did let us pet him just a little and didn’t at all seem skittish or fearful. But JoJo wasn’t interested in the humans and only seemed to have eyes for the chickens in the neighboring enclosure.

 

We brought Mochi in to meet him. After a quick sniff, they both went in opposite directions, not seeming to care much about the other. While usually a good sign, it didn’t help my clarity in making my decision.

 

At the moment, I felt overwhelmed with grief from losing my beloved Rossi, worry over Mochi’s anxiety and well-being, and a complete lack of confidence in making this decision.

 

My friend J stood back watching and finally said to me, “I think you should take JoJo.”

 

“Okay,” I said with mixed feelings but trusting his sense of confidence in JoJo.

 

I completed the paperwork and paid the fee, plus a little extra for the week JoJo was there waiting for me. JoJo was now mine and Mochi had a “brother” again.

 

I walked him out to the car and lifted him onto the plush dog bed in the back of my Volvo. I sat down in the front seat with Mochi on my lap. I turned around and looked at little JoJo who stood there looking back at me with bewilderment.

 

“What have I done?” I thought.

The second half of the road trip

We turned the car back onto the highway and stopped at a nearby Taco Time. My dogs and I have always had a weakness for Mexi-fries (otherwise known as tater-tots). And so, JoJo’s first experience with me was eating bits of tater-tots and a long road trip. This would be the first of many such indulgences and adventures.

 

Road trips are much more fun if one can drive a loop rather than making an out-and-back. Since the weather was favorable for January, we opted to make the return trip on WA Highway 12 over White Pass and the namesake ski area at the summit. Any regular reader of my blog will know that I love ski areas even if I don’t get to stop and ski.

 

The car climbed up White Pass from the west, passing viewpoints of Mt Rainier and Goat Rocks Wilderness. As we reached the top of the pass, we were rewarded with beautiful sunshine and magical late afternoon winter light as the skiers came down the mountain and returned to their cars parked along the highway.

 

I pulled JoJo into my lap and snuggled him alongside Mochi, hoping that he would feel welcomed and part of my canine family.

 

After another six hours on the road, I walked JoJo into his new home. He sniffed the perimeter of the house and then sat on the dog bed inquisitively. I fed him and introduced him to a good night’s sleep on the luxurious human bed with his new dog mom and companion canine. He slept all night like a champ.

Developing a bond

A couple of days later over lunch, I introduced JoJo to my parents. After lunch, I left him and Mochi with them to spend the afternoon while I worked.

 

When I returned that evening to pick up the dogs, I walked into my parents’ house and sat down on the couch. JoJo immediately leaped up into my lap and curled into a little ball of relief as if to say, “You came back to me.” I wrapped my arms around him and hugged him tight.

 

I knew at that moment that I had made the right decision. JoJo was my dog, and I was his human. The next day Mochi quit howling and pacing with anxiety and the “MoJo” have been great companions ever since.

 

Sometimes in life, we are overwhelmed with grief and anxiety. It can feel hard to make decisions with confidence. After all, most choices come with a bit of risk. In those moments, the best we can do is trust our gut, follow the signs from the universe, and lean on a couple of good friends to give us a nudge.

 

Two years later

It’s almost the two-year adoptiversary of JoJo. As I sit here writing this blog, the MoJo are contentedly snoozing in the dog bed together.

JoJo is a funny little dog. His floppy ear is as adorable as ever. He faithfully barks at the squirrels in the backyard and keeps watch out the window so Mochi can rest while I’m gone to work. He has a hilarious bucking donkey routine when I come home from work. He hasn’t even tried to escape once.

 

And he is the little snuggle bug that I needed to help heal my grieving heart and my debilitated body. JoJo has been exactly what Mochi and I needed to make us complete again and the joy he has brought us is amazing.

 

Mochi, JoJo, and I have had many happy road trips together since that long day of driving to adopt JoJo two years ago. Here’s to many more!