The second fall after coming to this country, I enrolled in the graduate school in the university near my home and one of the classes I took was ESL because I wanted and needed to improve my English. The instructor was a middle-aged woman who was extremely nice and patient. At the end of the year, she invited all her students to her house for a party, where we met her big, amber dog that befriended with us soon after we arrived. She told us that, when her two college children were still at home, each day after work her dog would greet her at the door while the kids were busy with their own stuff as typical teenagers did.
Two years ago, imagining the emptiness of the house while my son away in college, I thought about getting a dog and seriously considered the adoption procedure. The mother of one of my son’s friends suggested me have a three-year-old dog because of my inexperience with pets and could get one for me from a rescue. I struggled with indecision for quite a while. I was excited at the thought of the dog greeting me at the door as I entered the house, sleeping at the foot of my bed at night, trotting along my side as I walked, thudding down by my sofa as I read or watched TV, and following me around the house as I did the housework. I even figured how to make the dog respond to my son’s name because I wanted the dog to be friendly with him as well. Eventually, I was discouraged by the idea of raising a pet like raising a child and my fear with animals.
