My husband and I are planners.  We’re researchers.  Analyzers.  Calculated risk takers.  These characteristics largely work to our advantage.  Take the way we travel, for instance.  You’ll never catch us bickering or flop sweating at airport security…because we’re sitting pretty at our gate three hours before boarding with carry-ons full of healthy snacks, printed itineraries, portable chargers, and every pair of underpants we own.  And we always dine at the hottest, most exclusive restaurants wherever we go…because we set alarms to remind us of when to book reservations months in advance.  Don’t get me wrong; we believe that vacations are for letting go of rigid schedules to live presently and embrace spontaneity…as long as it occurs during the “FREE TIME” allocated in our shared Google calendar.

I’m exaggerating, of course, but my point is that we typically don’t make impulsive decisions about the future.   When we decided we were ready to adopt a puppy in 2020, our approach was no different.  We researched a variety of dog breeds to get a sense of average size, energy levels, general temperaments, frequency of shedding, and other attributes that would be well suited for our family.  Because we lived in a small apartment, we decided that we wanted a lower energy, short-coated dog that would top out around 30lbs fully grown.  We understood that it might be unrealistic to find a dog that met all our criteria, especially given the unpredictability of adopting through an animal rescue that may not have information about the dog’s past, but if anyone was up for the task of scouring Petfinder to find a dog that fit our lifestyle, it was us.

Our application was accepted by a wonderful animal rescue organization that transported abandoned and neglected dogs from Tennessee to the Northeast.  I enjoyed the thrill of searching for the perfect dog, checking their website multiple times a day and chaotically pressing “Refresh” like an introvert pressing “Door Close” after farting in an empty elevator.  One day, a listing appeared of a beige puffball with folded ears that perfectly framed a doe-eyed, teddy bear face.  She was listed as a Corgi/Pomeranian mix, and she looked to be only a couple months old.  We were interested, but we weren’t comfortable putting down a deposit until we were able to speak with someone to learn more.  Fortunately for us, the woman fostering the puppy in Tennessee was incredibly friendly and knowledgeable.  She provided the reassurance we needed to hear in the most charming Southern accent.  Admittedly, I briefly hesitated when she shared that the puppy only weighed four pounds.  I never saw myself owning a purse dog, but I supposed that a smaller dog would mean less fur to vacuum.  Plus, we were cramped for space and spent most of our time at home at the height of a global pandemic, so perhaps a smaller dog made the most sense for us.  Green flags popped up left and right, but my husband and I decided to go on a hike to clear our heads before making a decision that would impact the next 10-15 years of our lives. 

As we walked deeper into the woods, our excitement swelled.  Rather than taking in the nature around us, we giddily fawned over videos that the foster mom had shared with us.  The further from home we got, the more gradually this feeling devolved into panic.  Did we have competition?  Would someone adopt this perfect creature while our pathetic asses spent the afternoon getting nothing but analysis paralysis and mosquito bites?  Existent or manufactured, we felt a sense of urgency to adopt this puppy.  Scrambling over rocks in search of a WiFi signal, we logged onto the animal rescue’s payment site and punched in our credit card information.  Surrounded by oak trees, we submitted our deposit with bated breath as a confirmation page sluggishly loaded onto the screen of my phone.  And with that, she was ours.

When it was time to pick up our new puppy, we were instructed to wait in the car outside of the transport center for someone from the rescue organization to bring her to us (because, pandemic).  A few dogs came out to meet their forever families.  They walked confidently on-leash and enthusiastically wagged their tails; it was heartwarming.  Then, like a scene out of the Lion King, a staff member emerged from the building with outstretched arms carrying a relentlessly squirmy furball that wouldn’t stop open-mouth-chewing her leash like a Slim Jim.  That was our girl!  Because she looked like a peanut puff, we decided to call her Bamba.

The next day, we brought Bamba to the vet for a routine wellness visit.  The vet shared that she looked to be about twelve weeks old and weighed twelve pounds.  Because we had been told that she weighed only a third of that one week prior, we were shocked by how much she had grown in such a short timeframe.  Within our first weeks together, Bamba’s floppy ears began to unfold and sprout atop her head like Baby Yoda.  Her legs grew long and gangly.  We had never seen a Pomeranian with such comically large, bat-like ears, and Corgis certainly weren’t known for their long legs, so we were curious but not concerned.  Bamba also seemed to have an unusually strong jaw that made her exceptional at playing tug of war, and even better at destroying our furniture. She continued to gain weight rapidly and within a month, she bit a solid wooden leg off a kitchen chair.  (This is where my husband interjects to remind me that the screws on that chair were already very loose, and I pretend I didn’t hear him.)  We decided it was best to order a DNA test so that we could prepare for whatever Bamba was becoming.

As it turned out, Bamba is a German Shepherd/Australian Shepherd/Siberian Husky/Great Pyrenees/Border Collie/Alaskan Malamute mix.  She is also 4.8% “Supermutt”, which may be a euphemism for “Coyote” or “Wolf”, as children regularly mistake her for those on our daily neighborhood strolls.  (Truly though – we keep a large, frilly flower on her collar to signal to our neighbors that there’s not a wild animal happily gnawing tree branches in our backyard.) Weighing in at 75lbs, which is more than twice what we expected, not a single ounce of this dog is Corgi nor Pomeranian. 

With her unique mix of long-haired, double-coated, high shedding breeds, Bamba graces each room she enters with a trail of pillowy soft, golden tumbleweeds.  Her ancestors are among some of the most energetic working dog breeds, and we half-joke that the reason we eventually moved out of our city apartment into a house in the suburbs was to give Bamba a proper backyard to unleash her epic zoomies.  Bamba hardly meets any of the criteria we established when we began our dog search—and thank goodness she didn’t.  Ultimately, what makes Bamba the best fit for our family is far more meaningful than how frequently we need to lint roll our sweaters.  For starters, Bamba has never met a stranger.  She treats every human and dog in her path like her new best friend.  Despite her playful nature, she is intuitively calm and gentle around children.  She is patient when they try to touch her face, and she can sniff out which toys not to put in her mouth because they belong to our niece or nephews.  She is a wonderful companion on road trips. She could play second line for the Boston Bruins with the talent she displays as goalie during the nightly knee hockey tournaments we set up for her in our basement. (Airbud who?) She’s incredibly intelligent and even learned things we tried to keep from her, like how to open the bathroom door when someone’s on the toilet. Whether I’ve left the house for two minutes or two weeks, Bamba reliably greets me with a full-body tail wag, tossing her head back with her signature howl before grabbing a toy to proudly present to me.  I am so grateful for the sense of purpose she has given us, the patience she has taught us, and the joy she has brought to our lives.

Bamba is my daily reminder that no matter how much we plan, life doesn’t always give us what we want.  Sometimes, it gives us something so much better.

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