“What’s meant to be will always find a way.”
Trisha Yearwood
After four hours, Josie had given birth to six boys and four girls—ten wiggling, nursing, squirming, beautiful little puppies. This was the closest I’d ever get to having children, and I was thrilled to have witnessed the miracle of life.
Relieved to know all of the puppies were healthy, I began thinking about the significance of the dark-red puppy with the white mark on her chest. I had asked for such a puppy, and that’s what was given to me. I wondered if somehow she was destined for me. Of course, whichever puppy I chose would need a name. Since I didn’t know where this puppy would be going after her two years of training, I thought the name Que Será, Será would be a fitting one, meaning “whatever will be, will be.”
Josie was a dedicated mother who didn’t like to leave her puppies for a moment, and she watched them around the clock. However, the first night of puppy music kept both Josie and me from a good night’s sleep. Thankfully, a trip to the vet the next day confirmed that Josie and the pups were fine, but the vet gave her a shot of oxytocin to stimulate more milk flow and to pass any retained placentas. That night, we all slept soundly.
Two days after the birth, life around the house began to return to the new normal. Quiet music, low lights, and the scent of lavender filled the puppy nursery.
It amazed me that each of the little puppies had already started displaying unique characteristics, and I could differentiate certain things about them at such a young age. Yellow, with her white patch of fur, was the darkest red of all the puppies, and her glistening coat was as smooth as silk. She was quiet and laid-back—so relaxed, in fact, that she sometimes nursed upside down! But she was also submissive: She’d try to get a nipple, but if she couldn’t, she’d give up, unlike some of her other littermates who’d attach and refuse to let go. I reasoned that maybe Yellow was just being magnanimous—a portent of the altruistic dog she’d grow into.
Yellow proved to be very smart, and she and I bonded quickly. I’d often find her lying in a way that allowed her full tummy to be off the floor. “What’cha doing?” I’d kid her as she’d squirm her way to the raised bar of the whelping box, looking like a fat, little seal. Sometimes she’d crawl onto a stuffed animal to relieve the pressure of her full belly. She loved to be petted and responded like she was ticklish, kicking her legs back and forth when I petted a certain spot. But I noticed that she’d sometimes lie in the whelping box by herself, not cuddling with her littermates as much as some of the others did.
Because I was spending all of my energy on the puppies, Rina’s routine was severely interrupted. During the puppies’ birth, Rina stood silently by. Josie wouldn’t let her near her babies, and to honor Josie’s protection of the pups, I kept Rina out of the room. Yet it was hard for me to exclude her because she was a part of everything in my life, but on some level I’m sure Rina understood all that was happening. She accepted that her role was to stand by quietly. I’d set up a baby gate at the doorway to the room and she would lie or stand right there, peeking inside. Josie couldn’t see her but I could. And as I looked into her questioning eyes I could feel her asking, “What’s that?” Pangs of guilt gnawed at me. I needed to spend time with this new little family, but Rina was my family, too. After all, we were going to be in this together. I hoped Josie would grow more tolerant in the days that followed because, not only did I miss having Rina involved, I knew she would have enjoyed helping to retrieve some of the puppy items I needed. But more than anything, I just wanted Rina to be a part of it all.
I had a growing feeling I’d be keeping Yellow to continue training in the Puppy Prodigies program. I was sure this serendipitous gift from the universe would not only meet my expectations but exceed them. She would be the perfect service dog and would complement our small family nicely for the next couple of years. Therefore, I became determined to foster a relationship between Rina and Yellow. I started by placing a towel in Rina’s bed each night, and the next morning, I’d place the same towel in the whelping box so that Yellow could imprint on Rina’s scent. After a couple of days, when Josie was out of the room, I brought Yellow to Rina and let her sniff her.
At first, Rina wouldn’t make eye contact. Her ears were back, and she walked away. Was she afraid of the little thing that was almost, but not quite, like a dog? I realized her apprehension probably came from me not allowing her in the room; now she associated the puppy with something hazardous. It appeared I had some work to do in fostering their bond.
At thirteen days, the puppies were beginning to look more like dogs than aliens from Planet Sausage. While their eyes had started to open, they couldn’t actually see or focus yet, so they were solely dependent on Josie and me to help them navigate their world.
I bottle-fed the pups, even as Josie nursed, just as another way to bond with them. I shouldn’t have been surprised to find that Yellow was the only one who figured out bottle-feeding the first time. I wanted the puppies to associate people with something positive, like food, so I used drops of goat’s milk on my fingers to imprint them on me.
Since I had done so much research on puppy brain development, I was eager to see what Yellow was capable of at this early age. Placing an orange bath towel on the floor, I set a small bowl of goat’s milk on it and started the video recorder. I scooped Yellow from the whelping box and placed her on the towel. Even though her ears weren’t open yet and she couldn’t hear, I spoke to her the entire time. I dipped my finger into the goat’s milk and put it in front of her mouth. Catching the scent of a familiar smell, she didn’t hesitate to latch on to my finger. As she slurped the milk, I started moving my finger very slowly to see if she could follow my finger with the lure of the milk.
Could she ever! I had to keep dipping my finger in the milk because she was devouring it faster than I could replenish! She was urging her little body to move itself in the direction of the milk, not wanting to miss a drop.
As she took a couple of wobbly steps forward, I tried to lead her in a circle. Very slowly, very patiently, and very determinedly she moved herself around. With her tiny nails on her baby paws catching traction on the towel, her belly was still flat on the towel, so she looked like a sea lion in an amusement park, working for a fish. This pup was clearly food-motivated already, and I was certain she’d be a great student.
Smiling at her, I asked, “Do you want to try to drink this?”
I put the bowl of goat’s milk up to her mouth so she could catch the scent. I never expected her to take a drink, but to my surprise, she dunked her face into the milk and began taking big slurps, lapping it up with vigor. No more sucking now! A big white mustache dripped from her face.
“Look at you!” I said in disbelief, as puppies don’t typically start lapping until they’re three weeks old.
She had quite the appetite, diving farther into the bowl.
“Oh my goodness, you just put your whole face in there!” I laughed at little Yellow. Moving the bowl away, I dabbed more milk on my fingers. Now she was really following them and latching on. She was actually sucking my fingers into her mouth!
“There go my fingers!” I couldn’t help but giggle as I felt her soft gums. She dunked her head in the bowl and slurped, and then I lured her around in a circle again. This time, she rotated around much more quickly. Yellow was proving that puppies begin learning right away.
Free-spirited and confident, Yellow splashed the milk everywhere, dousing her legs and face. Once she licked all of the milk off her legs, she pressed her nose to the towel, seeking out the scent of milk. I dipped my finger back into the bowl and lured her in the other direction. She obliged quite skillfully for her third try. I ended the session by petting her back with two long strokes.
“Good job, puppy,” I told her, and she responded by lifting herself onto all four legs. She could feel the vibration of my fingers tapping and went toward them in a waddling motion. Then all of a sudden, she rolled over and softly fell on her side like a piglet rolling in the mud. She had aced her first training session at just thirteen days old!
Later that night, I brought her to my bedroom to watch television with Rina and me—another good bonding exercise. But when I put Yellow on the covers, Rina fled from the bed; it seemed she was still quite uncertain about this undeveloped version of a dog! With our trio minus one, I sat back with Yellow, who lay quietly on my chest, breathing in unison with me.
On the seventeenth day, I upgraded the goat’s milk to beef-flavored baby food, and Yellow absolutely loved it. She was now able to recognize me when I walked into the puppy room and she’d rush toward the door of the whelping box to greet me. Seeing this little body trying to be a big dog was so darn cute!
By this time, Josie allowed Rina to come into the room, which made life much easier for all of us. While Rina liked to watch me work with the puppies, when Josie nursed, it seemed to perplex Rina, as if she might be thinking that the puppies were aliens sucking the life out of Josie. I could almost hear Rina saying, “Run, Josie, run!”
Josie would sometimes stand while she nursed, teaching her puppies the valuable lesson of working for rewards. The uncoordinated pups had to reach up and stand on their back legs, which was quite a challenge. Many of them would miss the mark and topple over. Yet on the nineteenth day as I watched them nurse, I was startled by a coughing sound, and looked to see milk spewing from Red’s nose. Knowing she was a voracious eater, I assumed she had just gotten overzealous. Even so, I watched her closely for the rest of the day. She seemed fine, but when evening approached, I was dismayed when she began to wheeze. Rushing her to the emergency vet, I held her close as we waited in the sterile room, and she wiggled her way up to my neck for warmth and security. I talked to her the entire time, trying to soothe her. “Hey, little one, you’re going to be okay.”
The vet tech took x-rays, which revealed fluid in the right middle lobe of Red’s lung. Apparently, she had aspirated milk into her lungs and had developed pneumonia. The doctor treated her with an injection of antibiotics and said I could take her home with specific instructions for her care. Red and I were up three times in a steamy bathroom as instructed, and she had two private nursing sessions with Josie. Her appetite was still strong, which was a good sign.
Thankfully, by morning she was doing better. Her breathing was no longer raspy and she was playing with the other puppies. Josie wasn’t spending as much time in the whelping box anymore, so when she arrived on the scene, the pups launched into their normal canine frenzy, trying to get to her for what they must have thought would be their last meal.
Being an aggressive eater, Red was on a nipple almost immediately. Because all ten pups were competing for eight nipples, I had to alternate them to ensure they all got enough to eat. My sense of calm turned to dread when I pulled Red off the nipple and saw milk pouring out of her nose and mouth again. But this time, it was even more than before, shooting out onto her face, my hands, and the floor!
I wrapped her in a blanket, put her in a small crate, and rushed her out to my car once again. By the time I got to the vet, she was shaking uncontrollably. As we sat again waiting for a doctor, I snuggled her close to my chest, doing my best to give her the comfort she so desperately needed. Feeling the vulnerability of her tiny body, I spoke to her softly, promising her I would do everything I could to help her.
When the doctor arrived, he took her temperature and palpated her lungs. From his grave expression and the way he shook his head, I knew the news wasn’t good. He told me he could feel fluid in Red’s lungs. She was in serious condition and needed to stay in the hospital over the weekend. He estimated the cost to be around a thousand dollars.
“That’s fine,” I said, not knowing where I’d get a thousand dollars, only knowing what I had to do. I couldn’t not help her. Then the doctor gave me the next blow: He told me Red had a 50/50 chance of survival. Those odds were not high enough for me.
I couldn’t let Red die. I’d suffered too many losses in my life, and Red couldn’t be another one. I would do everything I could to save her little life. I drove home, picked up a blanket from the whelping box, and returned to the vet’s office. I wanted Red to have something familiar in the incubator with her when she became aware of her environment, which is usually around twenty-one days. As I placed the blanket down next to her I whispered, “Fight for your life, Red. I know you can do it.” I left the hospital hoping she would fight this illness as hard as she fought for her food.
Back at home and consumed with worry, I thought about how I felt holding her shivering body against my chest at the vet’s office, about her in the incubator at the hospital, and about how these days and nights would be some of her earliest memories. Poor Red would become aware all alone in an incubator, without her mom or littermates. This wasn’t the peaceful start I had planned, and I felt desperate to help, yet there was nothing I could do. I called the hospital every day to check up on her, and it was touch-and-go.
“She has a heart murmur,” the doctor explained to me over the phone on the third day. “It’s unrelated to the aspiration. I expect it will go away as she grows.”
As she grows. Did that mean she would make it, or was I reading too much into the doctor’s words?
Then, after four long days and nights, I breathed a huge sigh of relief when I got clearance to bring her home. Reunited with her mother and littermates, she made a beeline to a nipple. I was overjoyed; Red was going to be just fine.
Because I had comforted Red and she fought hard to live, I felt a newfound connection to her. This intense bonding experience planted a seed of doubt in my mind over my decision to keep Yellow, and I found myself comparing the two puppies as the weeks passed, wondering which one of them would be the better choice.
At three weeks old, the puppies’ eyes and ears were open, and their teeth were breaking through the gums. They’d all found their voices and I loved hearing the symphony of their combined puppy barks. Their new favorite pastime was jumping on one another, tumbling and wrestling like big dogs.
On one occasion, I placed my friend’s crated cat into the whelping box to socialize the puppies to cats. Yellow seemed to be the most interested and actually fell asleep in front of the crate. When the cat wasn’t physically in the whelping box, a pillowcase the cat had slept on took its place. Among all of the puppies, it was Yellow who chose to curl up on the cat-scented cloth.
At four weeks, the puppies were too big for the whelping box, so I moved them to a puppy pen in the living room. Since their eyes and ears were completely open now, they were becoming more aware of their surroundings, and they were much more active. They were ready to graduate to the puppy playground in the backyard. To motivate them to explore this land of the unknown, I put their food bowl right outside the door. Opening the puppy pen gate, I watched to see who would venture out first.
Yellow it was! She was definitely the boldest and most adventurous of the litter, always eager to explore. She had already tried to get out of the whelping box, interested in whatever the world had to offer. One day I took her out of the puppy pen and let her walk in the living room where Rina was lying. Despite the slick hardwood floor, she took off, undeterred and unafraid of being away from the security of her littermates. She stayed awake for about ten to fifteen minutes, playing with full-out enthusiasm, and then slept for a couple of hours, only to repeat the sequence.
I taught the puppies that the only way they could be picked up from the puppy pen was to sit. Yellow caught on quickly, showing her intelligence even at this early age. Whenever I approached, as if on cue, I’d hear her crying to get out. I’d look over and she would sit very nicely. I couldn’t resist picking her up for some cuddle time while I watched television. But she had other ideas. I’d lay her on my chest, but after a few seconds, she would climb down and waddle over to Josie so she could be treated to a private nursing session. She knew I was her ticket out of the pen! She was using me to get what she wanted. What a brain this little pup was developing.
While she was very high energy and playful, she could also be very mellow at times, resting calmly to recharge her batteries before scurrying through the play equipment. She loved all of the equipment, scampering through the yard to explore every inch of it. With her adventurous spirit, Yellow was definitely my kind of girl. Ripping up paper with her little paws and budding teeth was, by far, one of her favorite activities.
Yet even with my growing love and appreciation for Yellow, I was still drawn to Red as well because we’d bonded during her ordeal. Unlike Yellow, Red was very affectionate and loving. Whenever I’d take her out of the pen, she loved to just lie on my chest, content to stay there and cuddle, enjoying the quiet time instead of using the one-on-one time to sneak down and get a snack from her mom. It was becoming easier to envision myself keeping her instead of Yellow.
When the puppies turned six weeks old, much of their day was spent outside in the puppy playground, a veritable treasure trove of enrichment toys and equipment. The puppies had no choice but to climb over, go under, or jump through. This prepared them for the real world by exposing them to novelty so they wouldn’t fear it in the future. At this point, their distinct personalities were evident.
Once again, Yellow was the most confident pup in the litter. She was very agile, independent, and curious about moving objects, unsteady platforms, challenging walkways, uneven surfaces, and anything else she could find. She enjoyed investigating the hose, playing with bubbles, and, of course, nipping at her littermates. A quick problem-solver, she liked to interact with people. But rather than retrieving an object for someone, she would run off with it! She was, by far, the most energetic of all the pups. But at times I wondered if perhaps she had too much energy for her own good—and mine.
Her favorite toy was a “giggle ’n rock” ball, a ball with knobs on several sides that bounced around. When it stopped bouncing it emitted a giggle sound. As Yellow tried to grab the ball with her mouth, her entire head would vibrate. Then she’d bark and it sounded like she was vibrating under water. It was quite the sight to watch her charging at the ball, barking and attacking it.
Red, on the other hand, had a more relaxed way about her. She was curious, too, but moved more slowly among the obstacles. Red tended to steal people’s hearts with her sweet, gentle demeanor, preferring to cuddle up with and kiss the kids who visited the puppy yard over playing with toys. Red’s temperament reminded me so much of Rina’s, and I felt the tug of love and familiarity. I knew that Red would grow to be a very special puppy. She had to fight for her life, and I truly think that makes a difference.
I began rotating the one-on-one time I spent with the two puppies for the next two weeks. Each night, I’d invite either Red or Yellow onto the bed with Rina and me to watch TV. Yellow refused to sit still and would always try to steal Rina’s toy. Red, however, was content to hang out with us on the bed, and Rina even initiated play with her. Rina clearly liked Red better than Yellow.
What’s more, as the pups grew, Red’s even temperament, mild manners, and calm demeanor in the face of various stimuli seemed much better suited for service-dog work than Yellow’s. While Red’s traits met all of the criteria, she couldn’t be placed as a service dog with her heart murmur. But since I’d grown so fond of her, there was nothing against me keeping Red for myself.
By the forty-ninth day, a puppy’s brain has finished developing, making the puppy neurologically complete with the brain of an adult dog. At this point, a temperament test can be helpful in assessing certain qualities, skills, or characteristics. Temperament can be described as the dog’s outlook on life. Temperament is both inherited and innate, but environment plays a significant role as well. Like any test, a puppy temperament test isn’t absolutely comprehensive, but it can reveal particular qualities, skills, or characteristics at one point in time. The test is typically performed by a stranger in a strange room. That way, the puppies are away from what’s familiar, and their behavior can present itself without the comfort of their littermates, their mother, or their human family. But the results confirmed what I already knew: all of the puppies, including Red and Yellow, had desirable traits.
It was time for me to make a decision once and for all. The rest of the puppies were spoken for—some would go on to become trained as therapy dogs and others would go to loving homes, including Red, who had a potential home in San Diego if I decided not to keep her.
Since I had successfully used an animal communicator in Rina’s situation, I decided to set up a conference call with Asia Voight, another well-respected animal communicator. Input from Rina, Yellow, and Red would help me decide which pup to keep. While some people might balk at the idea of animal communicators, this was an important decision and I wanted to remain open-minded to all options. I hadn’t told Asia any of the details of Yellow’s birth, so she knew nothing on her own.
“Okay,” she agreed. “Let’s see what they have to say. . . . Red says that the two of you have a close connection because you are both survivors.”
Since I hadn’t told Asia about Red’s brush with death, I felt a tingle travel up my spine. Asia continued, “She may not be the smartest of the puppies, but she is definitely the sweetest. She says Yellow has dibs on you.”
Next, Asia turned her attention to Rina. “Which puppy would you like to live with, Rina?”
I could almost hear Asia smiling on the other end of the phone when she conveyed the answer: “She says she likes Red best, but she likes Yellow best for you.”
Of course Rina would be thinking of me.
“She is showing me images of a very busy mind,” Asia continued. “Yellow never stops thinking. It freaks Rina out. That’s why she runs away from her.” Then Asia laughed. “Rina says she sometimes tells Yellow to be quiet. She tells her that she knows too much.”
Yellow was the last to weigh in on the matter. After a brief pause to connect with the yellow puppy, Asia said, “Yellow would be sad if she didn’t stay with you—but she doesn’t want to be a pet dog.” I was moved by that, but it was what Asia revealed at the end that gave me goose bumps and left me with a strange sense of wonderment: “Yellow tells me that she was predestined for you.”
Predestined. For. Me.
I hung up the phone in awe, slowly digesting what Asia had said. Perhaps I’d known it all along, but there it was, plain as day. Yellow, Red, and Rina . . . these beloved dogs were telling me. And yet, if I was going to keep the yellow-ribboned puppy, I couldn’t go on calling her Yellow. She needed a proper name. That evening I called my sister, Maria, to help me decide.
“What name feels right in your heart?” Maria asked.
“I don’t know. I’ve just been calling her Yellow. I’ve still been thinking about calling her Que Será, Será . . .”
“Probably in light of not knowing what her future will be,” Maria agreed. “Sometimes the universe provides in different ways, and it’s not always what we think it should be but something even better.”
“Yes,” I said, pausing to think. “And she could be Será for short.”
We bandied about a few options—Chance, Destiny, and Karma—yet none of the names seemed quite right. But as I stood in the puppy yard with my cell phone in hand, a whirling ball of red flashed past me. Yellow had bounded into the play area and jumped into the kiddie pool. There wasn’t any water in it, but she literally leaped in with all four paws off the ground, a wild, whirly dervish of a dog—pure energy in motion.
“Crazy puppy! She bounces off the walls. It’s like she’s ricocheting around the play yard. . .” I paused, as the brilliance dawned on me. “Ric-o-chet-ing! That’s it!”
And then and there, despite my grand plans to give her a cosmically meaningful name, at seven weeks old, she named herself. The name stuck. While it would be some time before I realized how truly appropriate her name was, for now she was like a ricochet, the energy that rebounds through a room and changes the course of everything.
I am convinced that animals come into our lives for specific reasons, and I hold true to the notion that they are much wiser than we are. So I decided to listen to the musings of three incredibly wise beings: Rina, Ricochet, and Red. More than anything, though, I went with my heart. I knew there was a reason Ricochet came into the world the way she did. I was certain the universe meant for us to be together. I had no idea what our future would hold and decided whatever will be, will be: Que Será, Será.
Ricochet was staying with me.