Heartbreaking Adoption Story: Maple’s Love

—

I should’ve kept driving.

Therefore, I parked my old outdoorsy hatchback by the Rescue Center, turned it off, and let everything grow still. Everyone was hot under the summer sun, but my unsettling thoughts were the real cause of my aching heart.

Nina, I reminded her that the job was not hers just yet. “You have a studio over a hardware store, and you’re still upset over that fool Ryan after six weeks.”

After that, I left my car, locked it, and walked to the place with a low brick building, white paint coming off, and a raccoon painted on the front window. Someone entered the store, and I could tell from the familiar smells of disinfectant, old kibble, and sadness.

A volunteer who stood behind the counter in a polo that was too big for them looked up at me. “Hey there! Looking to adopt?”

“No,” I said automatically. “Maybe. I just… wanted to look.”

He displayed a laminated binder to me. “You have the option to choose someone to visit.” Everyone can view the dogs from outside the kennels, but no one is allowed inside anymore since it can make them too excited.

I agreed and brought the binder to a dull plastic chair near the bulletin board. I never really wanted to have a dog. I needed something to show me affection. I may have wanted a love that wouldn’t go away.

I flipped pages—so many hopeful eyes. Many tales are published in Comic Sans. Just one picture caught my eye—an overweight, shaggy dog with grey hairs around her muzzle and eyes entirely too bright for her age.

Name: Maple.

Age: 9.

Maple was a therapy dog whose human companion passed on. She’s a mild-spirited animal who enjoys being rubbed along her back. She should have been given help trimming her weight and a quiet spot to live her retirement.

There was no specific reason that made me choose her. Maybe it was the name. I couldn’t stop wondering if her droopy ears meant she was a bit shy around so many people.

I told the boy at the counter, “Maybe I could meet Maple some day.” He smiled and showed me to the fenced play yard.

“She’s a real sweetheart. You can wait outside. I’ll bring her out.”

Astroturf lined the yard, leaving dry hedges and a slowly fading maple tree. I stayed in the shade, not knowing whether the heat made me sweat or my heart worked faster.

As soon as the gate swerved open, I steadied my nerves.

She trotted about, her tongue hanging out and her tail moving like a brush. The cat quickly dashed to me and lay against my feet with her belly up. Every part of her felt the thrill of excitement.

I laughed despite myself. “We don’t really know each other,” I hissed as I scratched her.

She let out a happy sigh and pressed herself hard against me as if I were her one excellent and safe spot.

—

I hadn’t planned to adopt. After the breakup, I hadn’t made much in the way of plans for myself. However, I had filled out many documents by the next hour and given away the last hundred bucks from my checking account.

Getting Maple into the car was a big challenge. She could not jump, and picking her up was like moving a wiggly sandbag. It took many apologies and several failed tries before I finally could get her in, and I collapsed in the driver’s seat.

“Girl, I’m out of breath too, but we’ve got each other,” I replied.

The first week was chaos. Maple made more noise snoring than my ex ever did. The clumps of her hair were as big as rabbits, and she would not even try out the grain-free kibble I got for a great price. She greeted me at the door when I was home from any job interview, beating her tail softly. I noticed her move close to me and lean her head on my leg while I worked on the applications to let me know she understood my feelings.

We started walking at sunrise so the pavement would not be too hot for her to walk on. As we make our way, I notice her tail moving excitedly when we pass mailboxes and squirrels. Neighbours started waving. She was affectionately given a nickname, “Queen of Clover Street.”

We started making carrots and cooking the chicken in an air fryer. We didn’t get any snacks and tried to step more. I got rid of the hoodies that I had saved from Ryan. After watching, Maple lay herself on my lap while I cried.

We healed, inch by inch.

—

On the next morning, Maple didn’t wake up.

At night, she slept comfortably on the tiles in the kitchen. She needed a little more rest after our previous walk. Yet, when I talked to her, she did not move.

The smell hit me first. Metallic, rotten.

Switching on the light, I screamed at the sight.

Her blood was flowing, black and pooling on the floor. She was breathing shallowly, and neither her eyes nor awareness were clear. I got down on my knees and held her head in my hands, my body trembling.

“It’s okay, girl. I’ve got you.”

I took her to the car as fast as I could, holding her barefoot and crying, and headed for the emergency vet. I probably looked crazy, with blood all over, wearing just pyjama shorts and a university sweatshirt I’d worn years ago.

They took her immediately. I sat in the waiting room shivering and couldn’t stop feeling scared. A receptionist gave me some hospital shoes to wear on my feet. I don’t even remember putting them on.

Time bent and stretched. Hours passed. People came and went. I just sat there looking at the door where they took her.

Finally, a vet walked over and called me.

Maple was stable, she said. But not okay.

She sat me down in a clean room, and although her words were calm and familiar, I could tell she was going through the motions.

“We found advanced hemangiosarcoma. It’s a type of cancer that grows and spreads very fast. We can make her feel better for a short time… but it’s not curable.

The word hit me hard.

I broke.

“I just got her,” I whispered, and my voice sounded crackly from crying. “She’s the only person I trust and we’re best friends.”

The vet didn’t say much. Just put a box of tissues on the table and let me cry.

They brought Maple in and put her in some soft blankets. She wagged her tail once when she saw me and leaned her head on my chest like she wanted to tell me things the vet wasn’t allowed to say: time was short.

—

We used every moment we had.

I made her backyard her favourite spot. Hang wind chimes in the branch of the maple tree. Tied squeaker toys to branches. I printed photos of her and me and hung them with some clothespins.

I planted lavender in the backyard and spread out a picnic blanket next to where she liked to sit. I kept the air mattress in the living room so she didn’t have to go up and down stairs to get to bed. Every morning, I made scrambled eggs and ate them with her.

We didn’t walk anymore. But we drove. Windows down, radio playing. I let strangers give her drive-thru fries, and once, this group of kids put a tiny tiara on her head.

I watched her sleeping with the Maple above her, the wind playing through the wind chimes at her head. With my hand on her fur, I told her about the many adventures we could have had together.

—

When she died, I woke up in the dark, and I knew what had happened.

At the back door, all curled up, was Fiona, quietly resting. Her chest no longer rose.

I sat next to her without saying anything. I gathered her in my arms, walked outside, feeling my muscles stronger now, and set her under the tree.

The sky appeared in many fine pastel colours, with pinks and oranges lining the horizon. The birds started to sing as I set to work digging.

When it was time, I kissed the place between her eyes and removed the collar.

“You were amazing, Maple girl,” I let out softly. “You did so good.”

I put her down carefully and buried her with pieces of earth.

I stood under the tree, knees down in the dirt, as the wind moved the lavender. I wasn’t sure who or what I was praying to, yet I was sure that someone had to answer her mother’s prayers. She deserved to have companions in her life.