Free You Had Me at Woof: How Dogs Taught Me the Secrets of Happiness by Julie Klam Page B

arranging—”
    “HELLO, JULIE? I’M HERE!”
    No! I’d been so close! He picked up and then I heard the telltale signs of someone settling in for a long conversation—the scraping of a chair, the “hold on while I turn this down,” the pouring of a beverage.
    John didn’t care if I was standing or hanging by my toes; he was going to tell me the long story of his life in three acts, with no intermission.
    I heard about his childhood around the corner from where he lived now, as a devoted son and student at Our Lady of Boston Terriers. He was a very successful party planner who knew all the famous people and, “Life, Julie, was good.” He took forty minutes to explain this.
    Then, he continued, not so good. He bought a female Boston terrier puppy for his mother, and she named her Rachel. And then his mother died. So of course he took Rachel. Then he bought a male puppy for his lover, who named him Pedro, and shortly after that, his lover died, and John took in Pedro. “And then I stopped buying dogs for people!” he said. Then John got sick and lost his job and now he was on welfare. In the meantime, no one ever had Rachel or Pedro neutered. One night Pedro had a couple of drinks and Rachel looked good and the next thing John knew, Rachel was having puppies. So six dogs were all living with him and his roommate (an unrelated person renting a room from him), and he was going to court for some reason, after which he’d have money, but right now he was flat broke and needed our help. Other than his being very long-winded and crying too much, I liked John. I asked him if he wanted to bring the two dogs down to me.
    “What? Today? Oh, no, that’s too soon.” I made him cry. “I need time to say good-bye.”
    “Okay,” I said. “Next week?”
    ( Dogs barking .) “SPARKY!!! ¡Cállate! ”
    “It’ll have to be before next weekend because I’m going to Puerto Rico [he pronounced it Pwayrdoh Dreeko , as if he were a native, even though he was of Greek descent and from New York]. . . . It’s my birthday and I’d rather have less dogs here for my friend to watch.”
    “Uh, okay. Bring them whenever you want.”
    “I can’t bring them to you! I can’t afford that!”
    Ah, yes. He was going to Puerto Rico for his birthday but he couldn’t afford cab fare to my apartment.
    “I’ll pick them up, then,” I said. “Tell me when.”
    He took a deep, exasperated breath, indicating that he was having a little trouble with my lack of sensitivity and my rushing him.
    “Okay, why don’t you let me know when you’re ready,” I declared.
    ( Tears again .) “I’m sorry! This is just very hard for me.” ( Dogs barking .) “FRANKIE, SHUT UP!” ( Back to tears. ) “I’m just. . . . I’m doing the best I can.” ( Dog barking escalates .) “FRANKIE!!! FRANKIE!!!!!”
    “I’m going to let you go. I’ll speak to you next week.” I hung up the phone with a swell of relief. My therapist had many times suggested I’d be good at her job, but I didn’t think I could handle it. Ever. I’ve realized that I can be very good at helping other people with their problems, but I just don’t want to get deeply involved unless they’re family or friends. John was like a giant octopus with all the arms and suckers trying to pull me into his maelstrom. So I put on my imaginary space suit to keep John at bay.
    The plan for the John situation was that a new foster volunteer named Jen would pick up the two dogs from him, but I would meet her there to help her with the surrender.
    A flurry of communiqués went between Jane, John’s social worker, and me. The social worker was really hoping we could get more than the two dogs—especially since John thought Rachel might be pregnant again. (In other words, she was.) I did a lot of oy-veying to Jane, and now Mary Lou was involved because she had had litters of puppies before. We all thought it would be best if when I went to John’s, I took a look at the other dogs and the