I knew her name before I had ever met her. Luci, short for Lucia, which means light.
My fiancé, who then was living in New York City, had been discussing getting another dog, just for him. I had taken trips to the local humane society to look at puppies several times, even once taking my older dog, Neptune, to see how he would respond to a puppy.
Sometimes only adult dogs, mostly pit bulls, were available. But in the spring, puppies were plentiful. One local shelter allowed you to view and reserve potential pets online, and when you got to the shelter, you had first dibs on that particular animal. One day, I reserved a truly cute roly-poly dog, female, some type of mix, I don’t remember of what.
Neptune and I drove over on a sunny Saturday to check her out. The dog had a soft, fuzzy gray and brown down coat; was beautiful, healthy, playful, everything a puppy should be, but there was something missing. We had no connection. Even Neptune was indifferent to her. A little girl and her father were second in line to visit the puppy, and I told them she was all theirs.
Then there was the pure white pit bull female, Blanca, that I met while sitting on a coffeehouse patio having lunch with a friend. Two workers from the local animal shelter were having lunch there also, Blanca in tow. Blanca came over and nuzzled me for a few minutes. Her little wide face with a mottled pink nose was so innocent and open that I put aside my fear of pit bulls. I vacillated a few days about putting in an application for Blanca. By the time I made up my mind, and drove to the shelter on my lunch break, someone else had adopted her.
Four years ago, my neighbors had a litter of puppies, border collie – Australian shepherd mixes. There were five puppies that they left in a pen on their lawn. Every morning on my way to work, I would drive past the pen of puppies, seeing them grow a little more each day.
My heart began to yearn for a puppy in the house.
I finally decided to stop and inquire. Four of the puppies were spoken for, one was a maybe. If the tentative owner pulled out, she would be mine. The puppies were beautiful dogs, with the traditional black and white markings and pointed nose of a border collie.
I would sit on my porch and pray about the puppy. That’s when the name came to me, dropped into my head with clarity, seemingly from nowhere. Lucy. Hmmm. Lucy? I didn’t really care for the name; being of a certain age, all I could think of was the 1950s comedy, “I love Lucy.” Then the name expanded on its own: Lucia. I looked up the word and saw that it meant light. Perfect, I thought. I prayed for the puppy, writing my pleas in my yellow journal. “Lord, if Lucia is mine, please let the other potential owner pull out.”
Yet when I checked back at the agreed upon time, the dog had been adopted. I put dreams of a new puppy on the shelf. My fiancé, Morgan, had since relocated upstate. Ours was a late-in-life connection. We were both 51 with three marriages between us when we, through a string of improbable events, met at an Assembly of God church in Granville, Washington County, New York. Both Brooklynites, we had coincidentally, both lived on Clinton Avenue in Fort Greene.
He and Neptune had become very attached, after an awkward and tentative beginning. Neptune recognized Morgan as his Alpha dog, and was sometimes more attentive and affectionate to him than to me. So a dog was no longer such a priority.
The years flew by. Once in a while, when Neptune proved stubborn and obstinate, Morgan would say he wanted his own dog, to train up from a puppy.
My Facebook friend Brenda’s dog had a litter of puppies two years ago: Border-collie – Aussie mixes. There were five, and they were quickly spoken for. I didn’t really covet any of them; although they were awfully cute. Finances were tight; there were a million other priorities before a new dog.
Two more years passed. Brenda thought Maggie, her border collie, was pregnant again. Then she confirmed: Maggie was carrying seven puppies. It was January, a little bit early for what I thought of as puppy season; but I began to feel a tugging in my heart. I told Brenda I’d be interested in a girl, but made no commitment.
When the puppies were six weeks old, I drove out “just to look.” Two of the puppies were already spoken for. Five were available.
Brenda and her husband lived in a log cabin on a winding dirt road. Inside, was a great pen right in the middle of the living room, with seven squirming, tumbling, round, puppies with various markings in black and white.
I sat on the floor overwhelmed by choice, as I am when I walk into a grocery store and am unsure of what brand paper towels to buy.
One puppy nuzzled close and ran off. Closing my eyes I did what I am accustomed to doing when I am unsure of something. “God, bring me the puppy I am supposed to have.” No sooner had the prayer been lifted, than a puppy with a funny-looking serious face, all black, save a dash of white on her chest and rear paws, climbed into my lap. For the rest of my visit, the funny-looking puppy clung to me.
“I guess I’ll take this one, since we’ve been hanging out together,” I said.
Four years after my desires had not been met for the first border-collie – Aussie puppy, I finally had met Lucia.
Morgan was settled in. He was soon to start a new more lucrative job (although we weren’t aware of that yet). Rough edges had been polished off our relationship. Finances were more plentiful. It was time.
With the excitement of first love, I began preparing for our new puppy. Soft new American Kennel-brand fleece bed. Toys from Petsmart. Smart new faux suede carrier. It was literally “puppy love.”
As I sat reading my journal recently, I re-read my prayers for a puppy named Lucia. I didn’t know then that there would be a four-year wait. It reminded me that in life, we don’t always get what we want … at least not immediately. In the Book of Galations in the New Testament, one of the fruits of the Spirit is patience. Sometimes God wants us to wait; for his own reasons.
But like fine wine, spring, and late-in-life love, some things come not a moment too soon or a minute too late. They come right on time.