We wanted to adopt a shelter dog from a no-kill group in our county. A monthly newsletter came through the email one day with a photo of Sheldon who was listed under a different name. Sheldon is a Golden Labrador Great Pyrenees mix, and his brother, a short haired white, black, and brown spotted puppy were listed alongside other dogs who were ready for adoption. If a mother mates with two male dogs she can give birth to two different-looking puppies from different fathers.
It’s true. The dog picks you. I scrolled down to read his description aloud to my husband reading over my shoulder. It said Sheldon would probably weigh 100 pounds at maturity. We kept staring at the photo in stunned silence. But it was too late. We had fallen in love with him.
After the second date, filing paperwork, and a background check pass, we returned to the shelter a week after he was neutered. He was propped up in the corner of the pen with a half-shaved pink belly and a long row of red stitches, but when he saw us his tail began to wag. He licked and sniffed and whined goodbye to his brother. We thought we’d seen his Doppelgänger being walked up a nearby street the next month but decided not to approach.
We brought Sheldon home in our car inside a protective tarp for the back seat I had bought the week before. The caretakers called us and said we should be forewarned: this would be his first ride in a car. He’d been transported from three other shelters in big horse trailers, but he shared it with a hundred other dogs, including his brother.
Living with him on our minds 24/7.
Sheldon was frightened. Foaming at the mouth, he threw up and shit all the way home. We kept him in a separate room for days, and he kept throwing up and pooping diarrhea, and whining. He probably missed his brother and the noise and smell of other dogs. As recommended by the caretakers, we took him for short drives around the block, and for weeks he’d throw up or shit or both, and we’d drive him back home, until one day when he clawed at the window, my husband rolled the window down and he kept his head out like other dogs, sniffing, whining, barking.
I kept notes in my journal and drew sketches of him with no other practical explanation except that’s how we process what is important to us. Here’s one from my journal:
One day he made it all the way up the staircase to the second floor, and settled in our bedroom where you can find him every night.
Seeing, hearing, feeling, and explaining things differently. Asking big questions. What is art? Interviewing other writers and artists. Recommending new and old books. This new blog is about that. The dog of art.
Mary Louise Penaz holds a BA in English from Hunter College, where she was awarded the Academy of American Poets Award College Prize. She also holds an MA and Ph.D. in English and Literature from the University of Houston, Texas, and an MFA in Creative Writing from Bennington Writing Seminars in Bennington, Vermont.
Mary Louise currently resides in North Carolina with her husband and their Golden Pyrenees, Sheldon Buttercup. Her writing has been published in various literary magazines and anthologies.
Mary Louise Penaz 
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