VOIP
Added on Apr, 06 2008 at 10:01 PM by Sarah
The day I met Custard, the sun’s bright rays beat down on the sticky,
black asphalt, of the behemoth Tamarack parking lot. My grandparents had
called us up on their VOIP
telephone days before, were in town from St. Louis, and wished to
explore Woodbury, so naturally we brought them to the new monster
shopping mall recently constructed. It worked out well because
we
needed to stop by Petsmart and replenish our supply of fish food.
This was no ordinary day at the major pet supply retailer. No, this was Saturday,
the only day of the week when abandoned, homeless dogs were brought from
various shelters to the store to be put on display for prospective
owners. My brother and I were psyched! This was the first
time we had
ever visited the store on “adoption day” for dogs.
As soon as we stepped through the sliding glass doors, we headed straight
for the kennels. When we finally traversed the maze of aisles, tanks and
cages, we discovered that only one poor dog remained. He was small, a
foot tall at the most. He had long cream-colored hair which
roughly
graced the linoleum tiled floor. Two enormous, sad, brown eyes glanced
at me from underneath the thick strands of “moppish” hair. His matted
coat was chock-full of burrs and knots. All the other dogs had been
claimed, but no one seemed to want this underweight, loving, sad animal.
No one except me, that is.
I felt an immediate connection with this special dog who we later found out
answered to the name of Custard. He welcomed my gentle touch without
growling in the way he had with my dad and younger brother. We had to
have him! I had to have him! First, however, I had to fall to my
knees
and plead with the all-knowing beings that were my parents, which isn’t
such an easy task when you are an inarticulate third-grader; a task made
all the more difficult over our VOIP
phone.
After many long days and nights of a secret persuasion campaign, I managed
to give them enough confidence in me to bring me all the way to River
Falls, Wisconsin, to adopt the adorably ragged canine I had met days
before. It was a long drive sitting on the small bench in the claustrophobic
cab of my dad’s tiny pickup truck, but it was worth all the
discomfort in the world when we walked into the kennels and saw him
laying on his small patch of carpet, alone and lonely. Custard didn’t
bark, jump, or growl as the dogs in the kennels around him did; Instead,
he silently and lazily licked his paws.
This clinched the deal. We adopted him that darkening, breezy evening and
he forever became a member of the McBride clan.
A little more than a year later my Grandpa died, and Custard was there in
his wise, majestic, ball of fuzz to comfort me as I wept into his soft,
cozy hair. He was my only friend between my fourth and fifth grade
years. When we needlessly moved, and I was forced into switching schools,
he played with me every day and kept watch over me from my side while I
slept at night. Custard was and is the best friend I have ever had, so
when he became ill and required life-saving surgery two years ago, there
was no question in my mind whether or not we would save his life. He
saved mine so many times before; I couldn’t deny the opportunity
to return the favor. The surgery was long, and
expensive, but saved
his life. And all of this is to the thanks of a few phone calls on Asterisk.