The Waiting (let's hope it really is the hardest part)

As much you probably want to see some cute new puppy pictures, I want to be able to post them so much more.

For the past week, Chris and I have been prisoners in our own lives, metaphorically held hostage by the unclear whereabouts of our puppy.

Most pups go home to their families at Week Eight. Like the second language window, it is critical that they are assimilated into their new families as soon as possible both for training purposes and to make the adjustment easier on the pup.

But our puppy’s eight week birthday has come and gone and we are still in anguish – agonizing over when we’ll finally see our Shadow and struggling not to give into the very real possibility that we never will.

It’s a possibility I cannot bear to even consider. But after several weeks being left in the dark for days at a time, fighting to remain calm and not give into the pressure, even my most positive thoughts have started to give.

When we first inquired about getting a spot in the early February litter, the breeder (who for now will remain nameless) was as accommodating as could be. She was thrilled that we were interested, touched by the loss of Chris’ dog Bumps two years ago, and said we “sound like exactly the type of people we choose to raise our dogs.”

Within 12 hours after initial contact, we’d exchanged 11 e-mails and a phone call, and had secured our spot (with the first of three payments) in the very next litter.

Then we celebrated. We were finally getting a puppy. I was finally getting a puppy, after 27 years yearning for one. Chris and I were going to be parents – “puppy” parents, sure, but that was all we wanted at the moment.

We were cautiously optimistic. We had claim to a silver male, but there was no telling how many puppies would be born or the ratio of male to female, silver to charcoal.

We told only our immediate families about the possible delivery. And for 18 days, we were like balloons ready to pop, so eager to jump for joy but unwilling to risk the pain that would come if we were wrong.

Finally, on February 2, one charcoal and three silver puppies – all male and all seemingly healthy – were born. For the next four weeks, we were addicts for the breeder’s Twitter page, checking 30 times a day for photos and videos of our puppy.

Can you imagine having a baby then being unable to see or hold it for eight weeks? Can you imagine relying entirely on someone else to even give you that ability? No, I’m not equating human babies with puppies, but for a young woman eager for a non-human companion to nurture and pass the time with, for a young man hoping to fill a hole left by the passing of his childhood dog, and for a couple aching to welcome a third family member, this has been torture.

The e-mails that came so easily when we were looking to spend our money became a trickle a few weeks after the birth. After five weeks, the Twitter posts stopped showing new photos of the puppies and instead dwelled on items like the death of Marie Osmond’s son; news articles either loosely or not at all related to dogs; and the breeder’s desire to get photos up on PEOPLEPets, whose Twitter bio is “Meet celebrity pets, see the cutest photos and create your pet's profile!”

We were getting nervous, but we both kept our fears to ourselves. We didn’t want to shake the other up or validate the concerns by saying them out loud.

But in late March, one week before their eight week birthday, Chris and I went away for one last vacation, knowing we’d be unable (and probably unwilling) to travel anywhere far away for a few months after Shadow’s arrival. I e-mailed the breeder a week before we were scheduled to leave, inquiring about supplies we’d need to order within the week to ensure our pup would be ready to go on March 30. A few days later, I e-mailed her again, reiterating that we would be leaving the country and really needed to get this done. Soon the panic began to shape, then anger.

We spent every day in the Dominican Republic either trying to connect to Wi-Fi or using it, checking our e-mail and hoping against hope that we’d hear something from her. Nothing.

When we landed back in the U.S., the pups were seven weeks old exactly. We called and e-mailed again. This time Chris placed the calls, because as terrible as it is, some people still pay more attention when “the man” gets involved. (A better subject for another time, perhaps.)

Finally, low and behold, she called us back. Our puppy was doing fine, she said. She was going to take him to the vet soon for a final checkup and he should be on a flight April 1, she said.

Then two of his brothers died, and the pangs of dread got more severe. Before it was a matter of when we’d see him, not “if.” Our hearts went out to those families who got phone calls in the middle of the night. But our Shadow was okay, and we just wanted him home so we could look after him.

Needless to say, today is April 6 and not only do we have no idea when he’ll come home, but we haven’t heard from the breeder since Sunday (and that phone call took many tries and many hours to create as well). There are a half-dozen voicemails and several e-mails from us, but no information has made its way back.

Sleep has not come easy the past few nights. We are struggling to stay as optimistic as possible, but our hearts are breaking. For me, it feels like someone is pressing on my chest, squeezing harder by the minute. We want him home.

We have not yet met in person, but Shadow has taken a large chunk of our hearts. And like the bed in the corner of our living room and the water and food bowls in the kitchen, those hearts will remain empty until he finally gets here.