25

What is God’s definition of a family?
I’ve been trying to figure out my own definition,
but I can’t come up with one
that makes complete sense.

I’m going to be a grandmother. For real. My dad talked to Mr. Obermeyer’s vet on the phone, confirming the results. Mutt really is a stud.

Not wanting bad blood with Mutt’s father-in-law, I bake homemade doggie cookies and knock on Mr. Obermeyer’s door. The creak on his floor alerts me he’s home, although I’m not sure when he peeps through his peephole and realizes it’s me he’ll open the door.

Lucky (or not) for me, he opens the door. He does not look happy to see me. “What do you want now?”

Holding out the bag of cookies that I tied with a pink ribbon, I say, “These are for Princess.”

His lips unpurse for a millisecond. Opening the door wider to let me in, I’m not sure I want to actually walk into Mr. Obermeyer’s condo. He’s probably going to make me take my shoes off to protect his pristine floor and has plastic covering his furniture so nobody gets any marks on it.

I walk inside his place. He’s got jazz playing softly in the background. “You like jazz?” I ask, trying to make conversation, at the same time wondering when I can make a smooth exit without insulting the old man. The last thing I want to do is upset Mr. Obermeyer. His grumpy threshold is very thin.

Reaching into the bag, he pulls out a homemade treat and hands it to Princess, who’s lying on a pink plushy dog bed with her name embroidered on it. Her water bowl is right next to it. The pampered pooch doesn’t even have to get up to drink; she can hang her head over the side of the bed and lap up her refreshment.

What a life!

“Your mutt really messed things up, didn’t he?”

I bite my bottom lip. “I know it’s my fault, Mr. Obermeyer. And I’ll pay for the vet bills and even take all the puppies and sell them after they’re weaned if you want so you don’t have to look at them more than you have to. Just … I’d appreciate it if you’d not terminate the pregnancy.” Tears are coming to my eyes, which sucks because even though I’m emotional I hate to show it to other people.

“Wait here a second,” Mr. Obermeyer says, leaving me alone while he disappears down the hall with his feet shuffling slowly across the floor. He shuffles back, holding a picture of an old woman beside a huge silver cup. A poodle is sitting next to her. The woman is grinning from ear to ear. You can tell she’s deliriously proud. So is the dog.

“Is that Princess?”

“Yes, with my wife. Esther died last year, right after the dog show.” Mr. Obermeyer gazes at the picture longingly. “I miss her.”

“I’m sorry I ruined your dog’s uterus,” I say, taking advantage of the sentimental moment and praying he’ll forgive me.

The old man shakes his head. “You didn’t ruin her. It’s just … well, I’m a little overprotective of Princess.”

Ya think? “What about the puppies?”

“My wife wanted to breed Princess and create champion purebreds.”

“What do you want, Mr. Obermeyer?”

“I just want my wife back.”

His dedication to his wife makes me think of Avi. And for the first time since I moved into my dad’s building, I can relate to the old man. He’s not bitter. He’s jealous that I have a dad and friends and he’s got nobody. Well, nobody except an ugly dog.

Here I was thinking all along that two people can’t possibly make up a family, but I think I was wrong. Yes, it does happen that I’m wrong. Not often, but on the rare occasion.

“Mr. Obermeyer, how about you join us for a family Shabbat dinner next Friday.”

“I’m not Jewish.”

“You don’t have to be Jewish in order to be in my family, Mr. Obermeyer. Just ask my mom.”