The Adoption

On June 13 2000 I left my familiar world behind, home, family, friends and dogs, and headed towards my new home, Canada, and my new husband, J. It’s always easier to be the one that goes away than the one who is left behind, and while I embarked on an adventure towards the unknown, my closest friends remained, eyes cloudy with tears, waving at me as I disappeared on the other side of the Passport Control station at the Tel Aviv airport.

My final destination was Yellowknife, in the Northwest Territories, a place I had only seen in photographs, many of which were taken during the short Northern Canadian summer. The place was unlike anything I knew, the climate, the midnight sun, the huge sky over an unusual land with low and rare trees and low and rare buildings; the faces of First Nations, faces I had only seen in cinema so far; the cold, windy weather that turned my Israeli summer clothes into a joke; the North American diners with neon lights and greasy meaty dishes. People were friendly, and just like the Israelis I had left behind, ready to strike a conversation with perfect strangers at any time and place, which made me feel a little bit at home when everything else did not.

There’s nothing like a small, isolated town to meet people easily and fast, and I did. I had barely landed and my phone was ringing off the hook with lunch invitations from new girlfriends, and inquiries for Reiki treatments and classes. One of the students, Julie, was a cheerful blonde young mother from New Brunswick, who liked to take her two-year old daughter Zinnia and her Akita-mix dog Tia to long, meditative walks on one of the city’s hiking trails, and I accompanied them often. Yellowknife has a reputation for informality, and was the perfect place to teach Reiki Mastery to a student while walking in nature, climbing over bare boulders, circling a lake. Philosophy, it seems, does not require confined spaces, and the love of wisdom, dialogue and learning flourish very well in the open air. So does affinity and affection, such as between teacher and student, student’s child, and, as you will guess, student’s dog. Tia and I had a thing for each other.

Yellowknife, NWT, on the trail with Julie, her daughter Zinnia, and Tia the Akita mix

Arctic summer lasted about two weeks, depending who you ask; according to me, summer ended on August the first, and I was shaking, teeth chattering, looking for gloves and house shoes at the stores, only to be told, honey, it’s too early, come back in season, in October. I told J. that I wanted to move somewhere warmer, and in October 2000 we moved to the Canadian Capital, Ottawa.

Our Ottawa home was a suburb dream: spacious, a corner lot with a fenced side yard surrounded with a protective cedar hedge, and a wide driveway leading to the side yard entrance. Next door to us were a friendly couple, Candy and Dennis, and their small black Labrador-Terrier mix female, Sophie. Did you notice how dog lovers who don’t have dogs pour their affection on other people’s dogs? J. and I did the same. J. hadn’t had dogs of his own, but he once lived in with a girlfriend who had two shelties, and they were the closest to being his own than any other dog.

Our home became an extension of Sophie’s home, our yard an extension of hers, and she had toys, balls and chewing treats all over our place. As much as she disliked other dogs, Sophie adored human beings, and she’d come running at me, tail frantically wagging, and cover me in kisses.

My marriage was difficult, and J. and I argued a lot. There were few things we shared, one being a keen sense of humour, and another our love for dogs. We spoke about adopting a dog, and neither of us was specific about when. I felt lonely, with no family or friends in Canada, in a culture I found difficult to integrate to, foreign to the flamboyant, loud, outspoken, affectionate culture I had left behind, and the dysfunction of my marriage made everything worse. I often dreamt of Dubi and Pupi and woke up in tears, feeling lonely and homesick. I needed someone to love and share affection with.

I wanted to love a dog.

Years ago I took pride in owning pure-bred dogs, like Cici the Dachshund and Mushi the Cocker Spaniel, checking their bodies for the signs of the breed, and holding their pedigree papers as precious as my university diploma. My views had changed, and now I could not agree to encourage breeding when shelters are brimming with unwanted animals, either being killed for lack of space, or living lonely, isolated lives in cages. It did not make sense to chop away a dog’s tail, like Mushi’s tail had been chopped before we bought him, solely so it could win championship medals for their owner’s vanity. I wanted to rescue a shelter animal, and J. agreed with me.

A newspaper article published in the Ottawa Citizen covered the financial hardships that the Aylmer, Quebec humane society shelter faced. If they didn’t improve their money situation, they were facing closure. I showed the article to J. and proposed we adopted a dog from Aylmer. Ottawa has its own shelter, very well organized and funded, well enough that they can afford mailing promotional material and spending on advertising. We opted to help the underdog.

Having lived with dogs before, I had an idea about what I looked for in a companion. A dog to love was not enough: I wanted a dog that got along with other animals and with people; I worked from home, serving healing clients and students, and remembering how Dubi and Pupi used to bark underneath my treatment table while I was working at relaxing the person lying on it, I decided that I wanted a dog who didn’t bark much. I wanted a clean dog, an easy dog, the perfect dog for me.

On the sunny morning of June 2^nd 2001, I stepped into my living room, where I sat in meditation and practiced Reiki and yoga, and prayed: “May I find a friendly, kind, sweet-tempered, easy dog. May the dog get along with other dogs, and with people, especially with my house guests. May this dog be a good fit for us, for me, and good in all the ways, better than I can think of and imagine now. May my adopting this dog today be blessed.”

Left: Tana and Kinook at the Arboretum; Right: Practicing obedience; Low Left: Kinook and Sophie at the Conroy Pit

At the shelter we went to look at the dogs, while I was secretly looking for a Dubi and Pupi – alike, or a Golden Retriever. J. and I would point at a dog, and we’d be given a long leash to walk with him or her. We looked at a white male with brown patches, and J. said: “Nah, I don’t know, I can’t connect with him”. Then we looked at another dog, and another, and J. wasn’t sure. I had no preference, thinking that I would love no matter what dog we would adopt, and silently trusting that my the cosmos would act in a magical way in response to my prayers, and without any struggle, the chosen dog we’d take home would be the right one for me.

After two hours of walking with dogs at the end of long ropes, a woman volunteering at the shelter approached us and asked:

“Can I help you find a dog?”

I replied: “Yes, I am looking for a dog that is quiet, doesn’t bark a lot, and gets along with both people and animals. And my husband should feel a connection with the dog as well.”

“Have you tried Kinook?” asked the woman.

“No. Who is Kinook?” I asked, and she took us to a black dog with the head of a wolf or a bear, and a curly tail. I then realized that neither J. nor I had looked at any of the black dogs in the shelter. We went by as if our attention skipped over the black animals, for no reason that I know or understand. I went to visit the bathroom while J. and Kinook headed to an enclosed outdoor space where she could be let free. When I joined them, J.’s eyes were soft and shiny, and he announced me: “I want her!”. While I was away, Kinook the black dog gave J. a play bow, looking him right in the eye, then ran away circling the yard, with short, soft growls.

I turned towards the volunteer and asked: “Does she bark a lot, like this?”

“Oh, no!” the woman reassured me. “She only barks now of excitement to be running free”

We went to pay and sign the adoption papers. We had a two-page history on her from her previous family: she was one year and a half old, an Akita mix, she had lived with two children and another dog, she had been spayed, she had a microchip implanted in case she’d be lost, and she had been crated. Her family had to relocate, and they surrendered her to the SPCA, where she had been in her cage for two months.

Paperwork done, we returned to the cages to collect our new dog. The black animal who followed us jumped up and down with high energy, and when I looked closer, it was a male. “Oh” the volunteer woman apologized, “that’s Max! My mistake! Here is Kinook!”

Max’s happiness was cut short and he returned to his cage. My heart went with him, and I can only hope that someone adopted him, and that he found his forever home. I can only hope that all the dogs and the cats in the shelter get adopted into loving forever homes.

Always with a serious face!

On our way out I asked to be shown the cats of the shelter. I would have been ready to bring a cat home as well, and I had a young black kitten who purred in my arms and kissed my neck as a candidate. I placed the kitten against J.’s chest, hoping he’d steal my husband heart, but J. protested, swatting his hands in the air: “Ouch! He’s clawing me! Take him away!”

Kinook jumped in the back seat of the car, and watched calmly as life turned a new page for her. Her coat was dull and matted, and she smelled of stale urine. At home we were greeted by a happy to see us Sophie, who was unpleasantly surprised to see another dog get out of the car together with us. Kinook gave Sophie a play bow, and barked a brief, cheerful invitation to play, which sadly was met with disgruntled growls and a wrinkled nose with bare teeth.

Tana with Kinook and Candy with Sophie, socializing the girls (well, trying to)

At home, I gave Kinook a bath, and the most magnificent dog emerged from the bathtub: a beautiful girl with mirror-black shiny, silky fur and a pair of the kindest, brightest, calmest brown eyes that looked at me.

Kinook made herself at home in my heart in no time.

Visiting Pembroke