Reject

 

Liar. Liar. Liar.

And now, what has made me so miserable this week (don't get confused now, this is a different miserable from that miserable)? Well, it's been two years since I lost my beautiful dog Marigold, and I finally decided it was time to get another one. After all, many dogs need homes, and I can give a dog a nice home.

So I started looking at adoption sites and found one that looked just right for me. Moreover, I seemed to be just right for him--he'd been dropped off at the city shelter with a broken leg and broken jaw and had been through a lot. The rescue group had taken care of him medically, and although his leg is healed, he still hops around on three legs, but that's fine with me. Since he loves people and thrives on a lot of attention, the rescue group wanted to place him with someone who was able to be around him a lot. Enter me, who works at home and happens to enjoy giving dogs a lot of attention (let's be honest, it's not like I have anything or anyone else in my life). They arranged for me to visit the dog in his foster home and it was love at first sight. Everything seemed to be working out fine, until the rescue group started reviewing my application.

You see, the leases for the apartments in my building all have a standard no pets clause. However, our landlord has never enforced it; right now there are six dogs living here (and more cats than that; you just never see them), and I had my dog here for eight years. In New York, there is a law that says if a person signed a no pet lease, but brings a dog into his/her home and lives with the pet in an open and notorious manner (that is, doesn't try to hide it or lie about it, and the buildings agents or employees know about it) for 90 days, then the landlord can't evict the tenant or demand that the pet be removed. That's pretty much how everyone here brought in their pets, and now they have them legally. So this building has an "official" no pets clause, but it has never enforced it.

That's all well and good, but when the rescue group called my landlord and asked if this building allowed pets, the landlord said no, and with that, the rescue group rejected my application. I explained the reality of the situation to them and said that I had documents proving I'd lived here with a dog without any problems. I listed neighbors who are currently living here with pets as references and said they would back up my story. I offered to have my parents co-sign an agreement stating that if the landlord gave me any trouble, they would take the dog until I could move or I would move in with them temporarily. No, that wouldn't do it either.

(This, by the way, is the same landlord who took six weeks to replace our refrigerator, racked up a lengthy list of violations when doing construction here a few years ago, and made a blatant, obviously illegal attempt to get rid of us last year by not sending us our lease renewal lease. What I wouldn't do to be able to move out of here.)

I understand that animal rescue people work very hard voluntarily in a very difficult field where they see a lot of sad stories. I understand that their goal, when they adopt out a pet, is to make sure it never re-enters the shelter system. But sometimes you have to look at individual cases and see that while they may not match their requirements to the letter, they match in spirit.

Needless to say, I was frantic. I did a lot of legal research and found that I had pretty substantial legal support that would protect me if my landlord gave me a hard time about bringing in a pet. The rescue group person didn't even want to read it. I contacted a lawyer who specialized in New York City pet and apartment law. I explained the situation to her and she told me what I had,sadly, begun to suspect--that if I adopted a dog and the landlord tried to evict me or make me get rid of the dog, I had plenty of legal standing to keep the dog. But what I could not do was go to the landlord before getting the dog and say, "Okay, here is why you can't stop me from keeping a dog, so admit in writing now that you understand this and say I can have a dog." And that's the only thing the rescue group would accept. The lawyer advised me to give up on this dog and try to find another shelter or rescue group who would adopt to me. Then if I had trouble, I could be pretty confident that I would be able to win out over my landlord.

I was devastated that I couldn't have this dog. He was so happy and funny. He also was the size I'm looking for--yes, the size I'm looking for. Here is where I begin to look less like a noble animal lover who wants to save a shelter pet and more like someone who is too damn picky. I realized that if I adopted a dog, I needed to find one who was a size that I could easily travel with; my parents need me to be able to come down to their place occasionally, and I can only get there by bus. Also, if I am ever going to have long days of rehearsal, it would make more sense for me to bring a dog to the theater rather than try to manage rushing home on breaks to walk him or her. So I'm in the uncomfortable position of having to pass over dogs that don't fit into the size range I think I can handle. Though maybe this will change--maybe I'll just give up and say, "Sorry Mom and Dad, if you want me down there, you'll have to pay for a rental car." Yeah, that's nice. I'm looking, though, and maybe I'll find someone who's just right. Sadly, I saw a dog in Pennsylvania who looked right for me; I don't know about his size, but I liked his face, and he had a medical condition that I know how to handle easily. But as I said, he was in Pennsylvania, and I have no way of getting there. And when I looked on the adoption application, there it was again: "Landlord's name and phone number."

Anyway, I'm going to try to keep looking. When this first attempt didn't work out, someone said to me, "I guess it just wasn't meant to be." But sometimes it feels like for me, it is never meant to be, in so many things.

(Please, give me at one evening to wallow in self-pity. Desperate optimism will return tomorrow.)