His Name Was Iggy

Iggy didn’t know his name for the first five years of his life. He was called other things, other names, none seemed right, some seemed wrong, some hateful, some scary. The loud ones, the ones accompanied with raised hands. Those scared him the most. Those were the ones that hurt, that brought hurt, brought pain.

He learned to retreat, to beg, to pray, surrendering with his front legs raised high, on his haunches as close as he could to being on his knees. A promise. He’d do better. Please let me do better. I promise to change, to do better. Please. Just don’t hit. Just don’t hurt.

At first he was glad to be left alone. Left behind. But then the left behind became longer than it ever had. No electricity. No air conditioning in the end of a warmer than normal September. 

Mercifully there was water. Mercifully the toilet lid had been left open. Disgusting as it might have been, it was still water.

Days passed. Then weeks. The scariest part was the dark. The dark of night, the dark of storm clouds. And the roar of thunder. It sent him scrambling for safety, hiding in closets or trying to burrow under the sheets strewn on the floors, the piles of clothes also left behind like him.

In the closet he curled up and hoped for delivery, for salvation. He promised he’d be better, promised to change, to do better. Just someone, anyone, please come get him out of this place.

It took three weeks for someone to find him. There wasn’t supposed to be a pet. But there was also supposed to be regular rent paid, so the fact that the evicted ignored the pet provision, as well, wasn’t surprising. What was surprising was the sweet nature of the emaciated, cowering dog, lying on the tile of the bathroom floor, the coolest place in the uncool apartment.

What was surprising was the dog’s gentleness, gratitude. 

What wasn’t surprising was his fear, his vibrations, his flinching when a kind hand reached out towards his head to offer comfort, the dog not knowing a kind hand for so long.

The landlord tried to find a shelter, but the shelters were full, and that left only the pound, so far as the landlord knew. He felt bad, leaving him at the pound, but the pound staff assured him they would find a home for the timid vibrating dog, who greedily lapped a water bowl dry and devoured a bowl of kibble as if it hadn’t even been there, as if it might disappear if he didn’t eat it fast enough.

Fate.

The pound staff was earnest in finding a home for him. But they were earnest in trying to find homes for all the dogs, and the pound was overflowing with strays and abandoned dogs. Only the few lucky ones, the special ones, the ones that touched something in one of the volunteer’s hearts, were granted more than just a few days before being led away, to the room where Iggy watched the others go and not come back from. To the room that smelled of fear as much as fireworks and thunder sounded of it.

He knew them from their short time together in the rows of cramped cages. Knew them by the names the people who offered them all food and water and some bit of attention. Woody, Amaretto, Benedict, Wyatt. They all were there for such a short time and then to the room and then gone.

And Iggy curled in the corner of his cage, and wagged his tail for the people who fed him and gave him water and affection and called him another new name that he didn’t know but still knew it wasn’t his. And he thought about what he could do to get out of that cage and out of that place and away from the room at the far end of the hall, and he promised he’d do better if someone would just get him out of there.

The morning came, and a sound of excitement. The nice people who brought him food were happy, happier than they’d been any of the week that he had been there. They were hugging. Crying. Laughing.

He didn’t know what was happening, but for the first time in a long time, Iggy felt something new. 

Hope.

“You’re getting out of here, buddy,” one of them said, rubbing his head, scratching his nose, something he’d never experienced before. It tickled. It made him sneeze, his mouth wide open, tongue dangling out, he gazed at the volunteer, then snorted and barked once. And the volunteer burst out laughing.

“I swear he understands,” the one told another nearby. “I swear he’s laughing.”

They took Iggy out of his cage, and for just a moment his heart sank, until the leash and the volunteer pulled in the opposite direction of the scary room at the other end of the hall.

With five others, all of them barking, some shaking, some jumping, some waiting calmly for whatever was to come next, Iggy was moved into another room.

And then another cage. A smaller one. A plastic one. Tight and claustrophobic and scary in a new way. The other five went willingly into theirs. He didn’t want to go in. It took three of the volunteers, their voices calm, trying to be reassuring, to finally back him into the crate.

And the door latched behind him. And the crate was lifted and put in the back of a van and the van drove off. Away from the scary place. Away from the loud streets and sounds and buildings and into the countryside. And it was new, and it was better, but it was unknown, and it worried him.

And he promised he’d be better and to do what was wanted from him, if he could just find someone who wanted him, at all. 

At a wide open green space, unlike any he’d ever seen, the van stopped, and the driver and two of the volunteers, slipping a leash around his neck, opened the crate for Iggy, to get out and walk. To walk for the first time in a grassy field, to sniff for the first time at trees and plants where he could smell all the other dogs that had been there before him. And he forgot being worried for a moment, and for a moment just got to be the dog he always was meant to be.

But it was over too soon.

“Come on, buddy,” the one volunteer said, pulling him back to his crate, that was now in a new van with a new man standing beside it. He was sure he had never met the new man before but there was something about this new man that was different.

Maybe it was the smile. Maybe it was the eyes. Maybe it was the scent. Probably the scent. The scent of other dogs on him, but not the scent of any of the previous places, of any of the scary places. 

“Hey, big boy,” the new man said, and he rubbed his hand along the side of Iggy’s face. “It’s okay.”

Iggy still didn’t want to get back in the crate, and he sensed the man’s apprehension as Iggy struggled briefly before conceding. 

And then there was quiet, and the daylight faded into night, and only the hum of the van and the sound of the road, and the sound of the other five dogs drifting to sleep in their crates.

And for the first time in the dark, Iggy wasn’t scared. He wasn’t sure what was happening, but he wasn’t scared as he drifted off to sleep.

He woke with a start. His crate off loaded at a small house with a small yard, none of which seemed scary. He heard the others barking and from within the small house the sound of two other dogs barking in unison. 

The door to the house opened and a pretty lady with the prettiest smile he’d ever seen came towards him and opened the crate.

“Hi, you,” she said, taking his leash and taking Iggy for his first walk in his new world. “You’re the one I’ve been waiting to meet.”

They walked around the small yard, smelling the new smells, smelling the scents of the two dogs who had been there for a long time, Iggy could tell. They walked down the street and around the block for the first time, and then Iggy was taken back to his crate that he still didn’t want to get in but eventually conceded, and he slept as peacefully as he had in a long time, but he still wasn’t sure.

And he promised he’d be good and promised he’d be better, if he could just have a home, and if maybe this might be it.

And one-by-one the other five were gone, but not scary gone like before. He could feel it. He could smell it. Adopted was the word he heard used by the new man and the lady with the prettiest smile. Until it was just him and them in a big new place with the smell of food and people and treats and dogs everywhere, and the word adopted in the air everywhere.

And adopted sounded like a good thing. But something else sounded better. He wanted something more.

And he remembered something from what seemed so long ago. And if it had worked there, maybe it would work here.

And he turned to the new man and the lady with the prettiest smile and he began to beg, to pray, surrendering with his front legs raised high, on his haunches as close as he could to being on his knees. A promise. He’d do better. Please let me do better. I promise to change, to do better. Please. Just let me stay.

And the lady with the prettiest smile, smiled even brighter and the new man looked at her and then at him, and they laughed. And Iggy barked but they had a feeling he was laughing, too. And they rubbed his head, and scratched his nose, something he’d experienced only that one time before. It tickled. It made him sneeze, his mouth wide open, tongue dangling out, he gazed at the couple, then snorted and barked once. And they burst out laughing.

“I guess you’re staying,” the new man said.

And Iggy barked again.

And the lady with the prettiest smile held his face and kissed him on top of his head. “Yes, you are staying,” she said to him in a voice he heard repeatedly for the rest of his life. “Yes, you are.”

“Well, if he’s staying, he’s going to need a real name,” the new man said. “How about Iggy?” And Iggy looked at both of them and barked and wagged his tail.

“I think he likes it,” the lady with the prettiest smile said, laughing, scratching Iggy’s head. “How about we go home?”

 And Iggy’s bark drown out the barks of all the other dogs combined. 

His name was Iggy. He knew it always had been even though he didn’t find out about it for the first five years of his life. Just like he knew the lady with the prettiest smile and the new man’s real names were Mom and Dad. He spent the rest of his 17 years living up to every promise he’d ever made to do better. Overachieving at every step. Because at the end, when it was time to go and Mom and Dad were inconsolable, they kept telling him, through their tears that wouldn’t stop, that he was the best.