Letting Go at the Pet Parade
It was the perfect match of motive and opportunity.
I had an adorable one year old Chihuahua who needed a forever home and it was time for the Sea Witch Pet Parade.
But I suppose you’re wondering how this Schnauzer-identified writer came to be seeking a family for a homeless, pointy-eared Chihuahua child.
My friend Sally’s daughter, in a misguided fit of kindness, took in the homeless pooch. An apartment dweller who works long hours, said daughter was in a situation that didn’t work for her or the pup.
So Sally decided to find the dog a new home, enlisting unsuspecting us in the scheme. “What’s her name?” I asked.
“I have no idea,” answered Sally.
Okay, then. Off we went with our Schnauzer Windsor and little miss anonymous.
For the record, young Windsor, in the throes of puppyhood, was just to be a spectator at the parade this year. He could decide for himself if he wanted to dress for success next time. Good thing, as our hands were full of Chihuahua.
At the Henlopen Hotel, with hundreds of two and four-legged parade contestants lining up for the boardwalk stroll, we realized the daunting nature of our mission. Yes, the participants in this boardwalk empire were all certified pet lovers, but almost everybody already had at least one ridiculously costumed dog, and many had two or three. The throngs of dogless spectators seemed satisfied with their status as well.
“Isn’t she cute!” exclaimed an admirer, what’s her name?”
“Lady Gaga,” I said, a little too quickly.
“She needs a home,” Sally said. The admirer backed away.
When a young woman stopped to pet Rita Mae, Sally tried again. No sale. Not that we were selling anything. The bright-eyed, affectionate Yoko would certainly be free to a good home.
By this time the parade had stepped off, with dogs dressed as witches, goblins, tacos, and pumpkins. One golden Lab was a prison guard, with his female humans doing a tableau of Orange is the New Black. Clever!
Meanwhile, Billie Jean kept attracting oodles of attention.
“Is she housebroken?”
“I think so,” said Sally, but we’ve only had her two days,” she added, for truth in advertising.
I have to say, the dog was precious in a demure, quiet way. Of course, for all I knew, she could be Lizzy Borden temporarily silenced by the surrounding stimuli: Viking babies in strollers with dogs in Wagnarian armor; teacup pooches in bomber jackets; tuxedoed men with bride and groom Poodles; pint-sized prisoners and Pitbull pirates; Retreivers in Dalmation costumes: Dalmations as Great White Sharks.
Yours truly understood we had to work fast.
“Maybe you’d like to hold Martina,” I offered one onlooker, wondering if we could just hand her off and run.
A float carrying a castle, with a royally dressed Boston Terrier mouthing the words to “Let it Go” rolled by and I thought “if only we could let it go.”
At one point, a family huddling on a white bench looked at Whoopi and said “Awww.” Sally launched into her script. Actually, the family seemed quite interested, with lots of questions, discussion and an exchange of phone numbers. Promising!
Then we ran into animal advocate Bob Harrison, who suggested we call the Georgetown Shelter the next day, as they might have a home available for Mata Hari. Small dogs were in demand, he told us. Good news indeed.
With the parade having passed by, unsuspecting marks became less ample. It looked like Mariska might be ours for the night. Then, a kind-looking woman and her husband happened by and glanced our way.
“Isn’t she adorable!” the woman exclaimed, “what’s her name?”
(In unison) “Alicia Florrick.” “Olivia Pope.”
As Sally went into her song and dance, the couple became intrigued, noting that their elderly dog had passed and they were ready for a new family member. Might it be our very own Cagney or Lacey?
After assuring the interested couple that Princess Di may or may not have had her shots but that she was certifiably affectionate, we made sure to ask for their credentials as well. After all, we wanted to be sure Hillary would be going to a responsible, loving home. With all of us satisfied with the answers, we heard the magic words. “We’d love to take her.”
Yes!
And as Meryl or Lady Edith or Sappho herself rode off into the sunset, two
adoring parents making a complete fuss over her, we breathed a sigh of happy relief. Let it go, let it go, that perfect girl is gone!
Windsor, intent on sniffing out dropped boardwalk fries, never even noticed we were one Chihuahua down.
And frankly, I was impressed that the boardwalk itself was still tidy, no dogs having done their own interpretation of letting it go.
Then Sally got a text from the family who’d been interested in the pup a half hour before. “Sorry,” Sally texted, “we found a home for her.”
Wow. We might have been able to adopt her out twice. Maybe more than that. A good day’s work!
As for Windsor, he managed to find a dirty half sandwich on the boards.
“Let it go!” I sang.
Fay Jacobs is an author living in Rehoboth Beach. Her newest book—Time Fries–Aging Gracelessly in Rehoboth Beach, is available at Browseabout and at Amazon.com.