One of my criteria in looking for a condo in Boston was that they building be “pet friendly.” I didn’t have a pet, but I might want one. Now I do have a pet, and her name is “Ping.”
The Story About Ping
The Story About Ping
Yes, she is the namesake of Ping in The Story About Ping by Marjorie Flack, illustrated by Kurt Wiese, and first published in 1933. That Ping was a hapless domesticated duck, living on the “boat with two wise eyes” on the Yangtze River. (The very politically correct spell-check on Word informs me that the correct name these days is the “Chang Jiang.”) He misses the call to return home and nearly becomes dinner for a family on a houseboat. A little boy takes pity on Ping and releases him just in time for the call of “la-la-la-la-lei” that summons all the flock back to the boat with two wise eyes. All ends well, of course.
Match-Making
I hadn’t thought finding a small, adult dog would be that hard, but it turns out that it is startlingly difficult. After failing over at Angell Memorial, I started watching the listings online. There were some disappointments and near-misses. Then I saw Flora, who seemed to be Goldilocks-right. To me. In the eyes of the adoption coordinator, when she called, maybe not so much. It wasn’t what I wanted to hear.
“But,” the coordinator went on to say, “we do have Pixie and we think maybe you would like to hear about her.”
“Pixie”? Eh. But “Pixie” was a small, mostly white, sort of fluffy young dog, something over a year, calm and sweet and, the coordinator said, “a good match.” To tell the truth, someone who has been pairing dogs with adopters for years, maybe decades, probably knows better what I need than I know myself. After a chat with Pixie’s foster, it was settled; she would be on the next busload of dogs headed north from STAR in South Texas.
Anticipation
Ping in her Crate
I circled August 22 on the calendar and, as I waited, opened an account with Chewy.com and started spending money like a madwoman. A crate that could travel with us and a sleeping cushion were essential. So were food, treats, and a variety of bowls; a black-and-white checkered leash and matching collar; and some squeaky toys.
I checked in on the travel plans. Our meeting point would be Newington, Connecticut, at the Sam’s Club. It’s the last stop. The ETA is between 8:30 and 9:30. Arrgghhh. I hate driving at night. And Newington is about two hours from Boston. But it is what it is.
Then the meeting time was revised upward, to between 10:00 and 10:30. I dunno. We’d see if the goddess was willing to get us home without me falling asleep at the wheel.
Late at Night in Connecticut
the bed we share
The parking lot, once I found it, was empty except for one other car. A fellow stepped out and initially I mistook him for the delivery people. Nope. He was there from New Hampshire—New Hampshire!—to collect a new member for his own household. Presently about three other cars pulled in. And here I thought I’d be all alone in the middle of the night in the middle of somewhere south of Hartford.
A large white truck arrived and a couple of women tumbled out. There was much merriment, calling out of names, waving of paperwork securely stapled into plastic sleeves, and the odor of a small space that had contained quite a few dogs for more than forty-eight hours. But it didn’t matter. A slightly grungy heap of cream-colored curls framing bright, black eyes was put in my arms. I collected her documents and her travel bag, thanked the drivers, and bid farewell to all my new friends. We took a brief walk over on a grassy area. Good thing, too, because she left a big poopie. Then it was back in the car, seatbelts buckled, and on the road again.
A Puppy Named Ping
Ping
As we headed back to I-84 East, we had a conversation about names. I explained that “Pixie” just wasn’t going to work in our household. What did she think about Agnes or Agotė? “Aggie” if she liked. Agotė was Dan’s auntie back in Balbieriškis in Lithuania. No? Okay, maybe Beatrice? She could be a Queen Bea. Not interested. Then that story I had loved as a child came to me, of the duckling who faced the dangers of homelessness but finally heard that call of belonging. Ping? Would she be Ping?
She would be Ping.