Shooting Star

For my part, I know nothing with any certainty, but the sight of the stars makes me dream.

~Vincent van Gogh

I was driving down the highway one night in early spring when I saw the most amazing shooting star fly across almost a third of the sky right in front of me, ending in a brilliant burst of glittering light. It was a spectacular yet fleeting cosmic display. Even though I’ve been known to set my alarm for the early hours of the morning to watch the Perseids or other predictable meteor showers, I had never seen a meteor so bright and beautiful as that one.

That night, I had a dream where a small lake appeared in front of my house. From the far shore, a puppy swam toward me. His eyes locked on mine, and he made his way to me as if he knew me, with a purposeful stroke and a canine grin of joy.

He leapt into my arms, and the next thing I knew I was holding his squirming, solid body and laughing as he licked me.

Suddenly, in the surreal timeline of dreams, we were snuggling on my couch, and that was when I noticed his short fur was scattered with mocha-colored splotches, including his round puppy belly, which he let me rub while he wiggled into a corner. A feeling of completion expanded within me, like a missing piece was settling into place. This dog was meant to be mine.

The combination of the shooting star and the powerful, vivid dream felt like a portent. Maybe the universe was trying to tell me something. Perhaps there was a dog out there looking for me, and I just had to open my heart to find him.

At the time, I wasn’t looking for a dog. I had already rescued two: Jasper, a seventy-four-pound Hound with a touch of Catahoula and maybe Lab, and Lilah, who had Border Collie roots, along with a few other breeds mixed in. I also had rescued two cats — Dawn and Athena — a perfect balance in my interspecies home.

I didn’t need another dog. That’s what I kept telling myself the next day as I sat in my cubicle at the consulting firm where I worked. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was a puppy out there who was destined to find me.

So, instead of creating yet another PowerPoint presentation for one of our corporate clients, I went to Petfinder.com, searching for this theoretical dog. I looked at dozens of photos, but none of them seemed like the dog I had dreamt about. Then I remembered another pet-adoption website: Adoptapet.com. I scrolled the pages, reviewing each adorable puppy and sweet dog.

Feeling a bit foolish — and also aware of the pile of work I had to do — I was just about to give up when I saw a face that made my heart skip a beat. I gasped, and my pulse began racing. It was him. I knew it. It felt like he was that dog.

He was a scruffy Terrier, and he didn’t look exactly like the dog in my dream, but he was staring at me through the picture as if he knew me.

I sent an e-mail inquiry, wanting to know all about him. But the response I received was, “Fill out the application. Then we’ll talk.” I understood. Rescue groups are run by volunteers who don’t have time to answer e-mail from someone who isn’t serious about adopting.

Was I serious? Yes, I realized, I was.

So I filled out the application. Coursing through my body and my mind was this feeling of rightness, as if this were a path I needed to follow.

A few e-mails went back and forth between the rescue group and me, and I learned that the puppy was being fostered with — and got along well with — kids, dogs, and cats, which was very important in order for him to fit in with my gang.

I asked if the rescue group had all the information they needed from me so I could meet him. At that point, I thought he was local, but the puppy had been pulled from a kill shelter in South Carolina hundreds of miles away and was being fostered there.

I heard back: “I have no problem if you adopt him.” So, while I thought I was arranging a “meet and greet,” the rescue group assumed it was a “pick him up and take him home.” Things were happening awfully fast. Yet the dream still seemed to be guiding me, so I kept going along with the process.

Several additional e-mails, a set of photos, and a few weeks later, the puppy was on his way to New Jersey.

I couldn’t believe I was adopting a dog based on a meteor, a dream, a few pictures and some e-mails. I would never recommend that someone do this, and even today I have no idea why my family went along with the plan.

The woman who set up the adoption didn’t want to meet in her home or a park, so we agreed on a Chili’s parking lot in a nearby town. I was to bring $250 in cash. It felt like a drug deal, and I told my family that if things seemed weird, we’d get back in the car and drive home without the dog.

But we all fell in love the minute a sweet, wiry-haired puppy greeted each of us individually with a snuggle, kiss, and wag. The woman said, “I love it when they pick their families.”

At home, we introduced the dog to Lilah and Jasper. They got along instantly, although it took a little longer with the cats. As a family, we discussed names, and one of my daughters suggested Tucker. Why? “Because he looks like a Tucker.” It was true then, and throughout his life he looked like a Tucker.

A few days later, I was rubbing his sweet Terrier belly, and I saw those spots — the ones I had dreamt about.

It was in the stars: Tucker was my dream dog.

He was a ball-obsessed, scruffy Terrier who lived his life to the fullest. He loved to play, and his joy was contagious as he chased balls, squirrels and chipmunks, and barked at deer and the UPS guy. He often slept upside down, with his legs stretched out in multiple directions and his head hanging over the side of his dog bed. He loved to roll around on his back just for the fun of it, serenading us with moans of delight. And even though he was a goofy, silly dog, he was always tuned into the needs of the people around him, offering snuggles, a paw of sympathy, or his signature hugs, leaning into anyone he knew needed comforting. He became good friends with one of my cats, and I often found the two of them hanging out together.

Tucker was only with us for eight years. Like a shooting star, he came streaking into our lives, lit up our home and everyone he touched, and was gone. He was my heart dog, the dog of my dreams.

— Susan C. Willett —