A couple of weeks ago, a stray dog started showing up on regular basis where I work. The first time I saw the dog I was walking out of my building and she happen to be scavenging for food outside. I immediately tried to sweet talk the dog to me. She simply ran away with her tail tucked between her legs. For whatever reason, I couldn't stop thinking about the dog. I followed her up the street a little way. I noticed how thin she looked. I thought it was weird how she refused to come to me. I never have known of many dogs that won't have anything to do with people.
Naturally, I proceeded to Dollar General to buy dog treats and food for this little creature. I spent the next three days stalking her at work. I followed her in my car. I threw food out my window to try to get her to come to me. I talked in a calm voice. I avoided eye contact like the Internet advised me to do. I researched how to capture feral dogs. I was convinced this animal would never let me help her. I decided the best I could do was put food out to try to help her survive. I worried about the nights getting colder and where she would go when it rains. I worried about her all the time. I couldn't stop thinking about this dog. There was something different about her than other stray dogs I see.
I told my family about my latest animal project. My husband rolled his eyes. My mom jumped in the car to go visit my little friend. I eventually even got my husband on board. At a football game one Friday night, we found the dog huddled under the sole car left in the parking lot. My husband did his best to get near her but to no avail. She simply wouldn't be caught.
On a whim, I left my phone number with a guy who lived near my work. He said that if he ever managed to catch her that he would give me a call.
After a few days, the guy called to tell me that his son had somehow caught the dog, and he was keeping her in his garage. Cody and I gathered all sorts of materials (towels, blankets, gardening gloves, cages, etc.) imagining how difficult it would be to get this wild dog in my car and all the way home. The ride there was spent imagining the enormous task of rehabilitating a dog that we thought had been abused. A dog that we assumed would be aggressive.
Upon arriving at the house, the captor of the dog told us that she didn't seem aggressive at all. Cody and I looked at each other like we assumed this man was crazy. We could not imagine the dog that had alluded all of us for close to a week would simply accept her fate as our newest pet. The dog was in fact in the man's garage. When we entered, she slowly appeared from beneath a pool table. The tail that had always been tucked between her legs was slowly wagging as she looked up at us with the sweetest eyes. Cody and I couldn't believe this was the same animal we had been trying so hard to get. Was she simply going to go home with us?
The answer is yes. She rode home in the front seat on my lap. We didn't need the towels or gloves or cage. She just sat silently in my arms. As we drove I naturally started crying. I cry all the time it seems these days. Lupron has forced me to acknowledge my feelings no matter the circumstances, and in turn the overwhelming sense of love and appreciation and sympathy that I felt for that little dog curled in my arms resulted in tears of relief knowing that she would be okay.
This dog is now my dog. She has transitioned into our two dog home pretty seamlessly. She is a cleaner, slightly less skinny version of the timid dog we rescued in a stranger's garage close to a week ago. She is as sweet and loving a dog that I envisioned her being when I first saw her.
I felt a certain amount of responsibility to give this storied animal a notable name. I knew that she couldn't be a Stella or Cookie or Dixie. She had to be something unique and different to match her personality.
I am obsessed with "Breaking Bad." I have watched the show for years and consider myself an avid fan. I read analysis articles about the show; I follow all of the actors on Twitter. I have watched the entire series more than once and consider it to be one of my favorite television shows of all time. The series finale of "Breaking Bad" is entitled "Felina." I have known of this episode title for weeks after having read an article about the significance of episode titles of the final season. I also knew that the name "Felina" is not only an anagram of the word "finale," but connects to an old country song by Marty Robbins. In the song, the narrator loves a girl named Felina so much that he ends up dying for her.
I love "Breaking Bad." I am always so intrigued by how the show leaves nothing to chance. I also respect Walter White. Maybe it's because he started as a lowly high school teacher with cancer. Maybe it's because he is such an unlikely hero..or villian. Maybe it's because he knows what he wants and goes to crazy lengths to get it. Maybe it's because he builds bombs and enlists mute nursing home patients to blow up his enemies with the ring of a bell. Either way, I knew the most recent addition to my family needed a cool name like Felina.
Here is the newest addition to the Prater household. She may not be human, but she is certainly a baby. Sometimes we have to fill gaps in our life with unlikely objects...or dogs.
