Caroline in Paris

“I want to get a new dog today,” Nick blurted out on Saturday. “We could go this afternoon.”

I got his point: we had decided almost immediately that a new dog was something that we would need eventually, and the gaping empty space in our family made it fairly impossible to move on. We had even gone to “the quay,” where there is a long row of pet stores alternating with garden-supply stores. “Le quai” is a complete response to “Where did you get her?”

We went Friday evening–not to buy, mind you. We were quite clear on that. The idea was to look, and to see what looking felt like, to try to get an idea of when we might be ready.

“Not tonight,” I told Nick then. “I’m definitely feeling ‘not tonight.’”

He agreed, but was charmed by a little Akita, and I found the most beautiful beagle, which we already know that Jolie tends to like. So even though the Akita left me totally cold, and Nick shrugged off the beagle (“We just couldn’t see anything about her personality”), we had taken a step. Which is something, right?

So to hear that he wanted to buy a dog the very next day–especially when we’d already been, and hadn’t found one, and our dogs choose us, so that made no sense–threw me a bit. I didn’t want to outright say “No,” since it seemed important to him, but I spent the morning (and most of the afternoon) hoping that he would forget, or change his mind, or decide to postpone.  He may have had his moment of clarity, but I was still waiting for mine.

So it happened like this:

• My parents sent us flowers when they heard about Jalouse, which arrived around noon on Saturday. A flower, to be more specific: a lovely orchid plant, which had apparently been turned upside-down and shaken vigorously during the shipping process. I salvaged what I could, but most of the soil had vanished through the air-holes, and the massive sprawl of roots was completely exposed.

• Around four, I carried it gently to the florist around the corner, who assured me that it was alive and healthy, but that she didn’t have any soil on hand, and couldn’t think of a convenient place to buy any.

• As I carried the little plant back to our apartment, something started throbbing in my head: I know of exactly one place where I can buy soil.  Swinging open our door, I announced that we needed to go to the quay–now.

With us so far? We were ready to walk out of one place with an adorable sandy little mix–a body just like Jalouse’s–but the salesman, on hearing our story, hesitated. “She is healthy, but sometimes she doesn’t like to eat. You have to mix some white ham, or chicken…she’s healthy, but it’s a worry. And she barks; she’s nervous. Honestly, hearing what happened, I would recommend the other one; hang on.” And he took the sweet little bundle out of my arms and replaced it with her hearty, chubby, fuzzy cell-mate, and made it completely impossible for us to feel right about either of them.

Plus, then he got snippy about spaying between six and seven months, and announced that it was “against the opinion of the veterinary community” to spay before the first heat, which, I double-checked when I got home, and that’s just not true.

“Can we go see the beagle?” I asked, after we made our excuses and left.

She was up, she was playing, she was attacking the light fixture, she was bossing around the Jack Russell in her cage. She was from the same store, the same salesman, and, indeed, the same breeder as Jolie. She was licking and sniffing and exploring all over the place.

Her name is Juliette.

We still miss Jalouse horribly, but she makes things brighter…and she seems to be fitting in nicely.

Oh, but then there was the rest: the salesman gave us a good deal on a chewed-up carry-bag, since we told him we only needed to use it once, and we snuggled Juliette firmly between us on the scooter to take her home. On the way, Nick pointed to the promotional paint job of a truck on the overpass above us. I know that coincidences are all around, but this one, I think, speaks for itself:

Also, the orchid is looking good.