I met Bailey at Posh Puppy on Ventura Boulevard in Tarzana, CA. I had seen him there on a couple of occasions when I would take a jaunt down a couple of doors from my friend’s motorcycle shop to take a peek at the puppies. But before we go on, a little bit of a back story is required...
When I accepted a full-time teaching job with LAUSD I knew even before moving to Los Angeles that I wanted a little doggy of my own. I searched rescue sites online and without even meeting her, I settled on a black and white little Chihuahua. Sadly she was named Pop Tart (Don’t worry—that was soon to change!), but more sadly she had hot spots and scars from being viciously attacked by two pit bulls and being left in the gutter to die. Luckily someone with a kind heart found her and took her to the shelter. There they took care of her for a while but weren’t able to long-term. On the day she was set to be euthanized, she was rescued by a private organization. It is through them that I adopted Pop Tart. I immediately changed her name to Poppy.
If I remember correctly, I arrived in Los Angeles on a Monday (in August) after driving the some 1,000 miles in a U-Haul truck with a trailer carrying my car behind it. By Wednesday I had settled on an apartment and by Friday Poppy had moved in. At first it was a little precarious; she was scared and didn’t like me touching her. But soon we became fast friends. I stayed in that apartment less than a year because of a variety of safety issues and by the next spring I was living with a roommate just a few blocks away in Sherman Oaks. Of course Poppy came along. We lived right on Burbank Boulevard, a very busy street. We had a fenced in front yard, but often times the gate was left open by other neighbors.
Things were going well. I was teaching. In the afternoons I’d often go visit my friend at his motorcycle shop or over to my boyfriend’s. As stated before, on a couple of occasions while at my friend’s shop, I’d wander down and peek at the puppies in the pet store. My eye kept getting drawn to this gangly,tiny ginger long-haired Chihuahua. I thought I’d like to have him, if I already didn’t have a dog. But one doggy was enough for me.
It was in November, a little over two years since I had moved to Los Angeles. Poppy and I had spent Thanksgiving alone; my roommate was away visiting family and my boyfriend, for whatever reason, chose not to invite me to Thanksgiving with his family (that relationship didn’t last long!). So I cooked a turkey, made gravy and stuffing, cranberry salad, and a pumpkin pie. I ate and shared little bites with Poppy. The next day was a lazy one. We just hung out around home and in the evening I went to pick up something to eat. When we got home and I had finished eating, I took Poppy out to the bathroom. Normally we would stay in the fenced-in area, but instead we went out the gate. Burbank Boulevard was busy. And for whatever stupid reason, I chose not to leash Poppy. A couple of boys on skateboards across the street attracted her attention. I told her, “Leave it!” She then went to sniffing the grass. The next thing I know, she was interested in those boys again and dodging traffic to get to them. I held my breath and then started yelling, “No, no, no!” The boys tried to hold her when she got across to them, but she wouldn’t let them touch her. She decided to come back to me but the cars were still coming. Again, I was yelling, “No, no, no!” The first SUV missed her. She ducked and stopped for a second. Then she continued on; the whole time I’m thinking, “Oh God! Oh God!” The next car struck her down. I found space in the traffic and ran to her, scooping her up in my arms. Blood was oozing from her ears. There was a tear in her heel. She was already turning cold. I was in full panic mood, wailing and sobbing and screaming. I walked her back to my apartment and laid her down on the stoop. I continued wailing and I noticed neighbors looking out their windows at me. I tried calling my boyfriend. I begged him to come over. He told me he couldn’t, that I should just put her in a box and he’d come over in the morning. Instead I just sat there staring at her and sobbing. I was totally discombobulated. This was a nightmare, right? Next thing I know, my roommate returned home. She looked at me and knew something was wrong but she hadn’t looked down yet. I couldn’t even talk. Just at the sight of her I let out a gut-wrenching wail. And then I pointed down. And she saw. She helped me wrap her up in a blanket and place her in her carrier. She offered to go to the veterinarian with me. I told her I’d go alone. I drove there and when I arrived I told them what happened. They were about to page the doctor, but I told them that she was already dead. I gave them to her and they cleaned her up. Then they laid her out on the exam table for me and let me say my last good-bye to her. I decided to have her cremated. And all I could think about was how I had utterly failed her. I had rescued her. And then killed her. She was too young to die. Afterward I drove to my boyfriend’s house. He wasn’t home, so I sat on the stairs in front of his apartment waiting for him to return home. It wasn’t until then, when I was staring at my feet, that I noticed they were covered in Poppy’s blood. That night I took a shower and watched the blood wash down the drain.
After that I didn’t get out of bed, except to go to the bathroom or get something to eat, for three days. Each morning I woke up and tearfully told my boss I wouldn’t be into work that day. Finally, on the fourth day I knew if I didn’t get out of bed that day, then I never would.
Here is a pic of me and Poppy:
I told myself I didn’t want another dog for at least six months. But shortly after Poppy’s death, I found myself at my friend’s motorcycle shop again. I told him that I was going to go look at the puppies. I walked into the puppy store and that gangly, ginger, long-haired Chihuahua was still there. I asked to see him. I sat on the floor and they brought him to me. He ran up to me, jumped in my lap, ran across the room, and then ran back to me and back into my lap. He licked me. I was smitten. Against my intentions, I took that puppy home with me that night. And he’s been with me since.
I decided to name that gangly puppy Bailey. That first night I let him sleep with me. He spent at least 20 minutes washing my face for me. It’s something he’d still like to do today if I’d let him. I eventually added the middle name Miguel on, in honor of Bailey’s Mexican heritage. He was born in Calabasas on July 20, 2005 and is already eight years old! Bailey has been with me through three moves, from Sherman Oaks to North Hollywood, from North Hollywood to Van Nuys, and from Van Nuys, to Vancouver, WA. He has seen me through several heartaches and a variety of job changes from teaching to veterinary medicine back to teaching and now substitute teaching and working at the library. He has gone on trips with me, riding in coach on the airplane, and he has been my companion on long hikes, and backpacking and camping trips. He’s been my best and constant friend and has been with me through the good and bad (not that he really had a choice. Lol).
Here are some things you may not know about Bailey:
1. He loves milk. He gets a little bit of milk every morning with his breakfast
2. He is a quintessential lap dog. He will sit on your lap (and beg for pets) all day long if you let him
3. He is the quietest, mellowest, most submissive Chihuahua I’ve ever met
4. He hates to have his nails cut! He screams every time, even before you’ve started cutting!
5. He hates the water! He doesn’t like to submerse his paws in puddles. But he was brave enough to go for his first swim this summer!
6. He doesn’t know how to play with other dogs. If they try to play with him he gets pissed. When I take him to the dog park, he’s the loner dog way off yonder sniffing around by himself
7. He is a really good hiker! Size doesn’t matter, folks!
8. He is an excellent watch dog. Guard dog? Not so much! :)
9. He
loves to ride in the car!
10. He likes kitties. He enjoyed playing with my cat Meriwether and showing him who’s boss until he got nailed in the nose one day!
I believe Bailey entered my life for a reason. I don’t know why Poppy was taken from me. But I wonder if it was because Bailey and I were meant to be in one another’s lives and that wouldn’t have been possible if I already had a dog. I don’t really know how things work in this world. But they seem to work out the way they’re supposed to. My life is better for having known Bailey and for having him in my life. When it comes to the end of his time on this Earth he will be dearly missed. Until then, may we have many more adventures!
Here’s to you, Bailey Miguel! Cheers! Mommy loves you! <3
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