One Year of Wesley

Since my husband and I bought a house together, we have gone to the same Dunkin every Saturday morning. As was the tradition with his father to go to Tim Hortons every Saturday, now we carry that on in the wake of his passing. It’s sacred to us both.

Every Saturday, we pick up our order and sit in the parking lot to talk, watch YouTube, and enjoy our morning together. It’s an unwinding from the week and a way to ensure we always get quality time together, just us.

In the parking lot is a gym, a Publix, and a tiny pet store with a chalkboard sitting outside advertising which puppy breeds they had for adoption that week. I always looked as we drove past, out of curiosity. It was almost always the same list: yorkie, toy poodle, shih tzu, chihuahua.

I always imagined myself with a big dog. Something fluffy and sweet and protective. I liked the idea of a pug, but I’d heard how unethical it is to breed them so I wrote off the only small dog I ever wanted. I had no real plans to get any other pet, considering our two cats already felt like a handful. Our life felt complete as it was. But my husband and I suddenly started coming across articles and videos about how sweet, gentle, and intelligent Cavalier King Charles’ are. How they’re often used as emotional support/service dogs and are fiercely loyal, but still friendly. I liked the sound of that, despite having no plans to actually get one anytime soon. We both shoved the idea to the back of our minds. We’re too busy, we thought.

The next Saturday, as we drove past the pet store, I noticed that written in curly light blue letters on the chalkboard was “Cavalier King Charles.” Without thinking, I pulled over. My husband, who was always more of the “We should get a dog,” person out of the two of us said “We’ll just look.” I asked, “What if there’s a dog in there that’s perfect?” He laughed, saying there’s no such thing as perfect, but we still went in together determined not to walk out with a dog. Just looking. As my parents later said, “Famous last words.”

I just knew. Immediately, I knew we were supposed to be there.

There were several spaniels all together in that room, and for a moment I wondered “How could you possibly pick one? They’re all just puppies.” But then my husband pointed to a teeny puppy being smushed beneath a much more lively, bouncy, wild puppy and said “I like that one.”

My husband picked him up and his eyes welled with tears. He tried to act tough, but I think he was remembering my question then. “What if we find one that’s perfect?” I held that sleepy, sweet puppy and didn’t let go of him until we were all in our car, together.

We sat in the car with our Dunkin, going back and forth on what to call him until I suggested Wesley, and we knew it was a perfect fit. Acting Ensign Wesley Crusher, as my husband formally named him. Just Wesley, to everyone else. We still watch Star Trek together and point out Wesley Crusher, determined to teach our pup to recognize his namesake.

He just turned one, and I’ve been reflecting on how lucky we are to have found him at just the right time! That Dunkin closed the next Saturday, so we didn’t drive by the pet store again for months. It was meant to be, right then and there.