Enjoy excerpt from MEG & I; A Love Story, Chapter One

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CHAPTER ONE 

     “I’m getting a dog!” I tell my friend Laurie.

     “A dog?” she stammers into the phone. “They’re a lot of work. Why?”

     “I’m getting a German Shepherd! It’s been a bucket list item and I’m doing it!” I’m so excited, nothing can deter my enthusiasm.

     “A German Shepherd? Oh my God…”

     I grin. “I know, it’s going to be amazing. I’m picking her up tomorrow.”

“What?! Tomorrow?! How did you find this dog? Are you even prepared?”

     “I found her on the Internet. Prepared? What do you mean? I’m heading out to the store now to get her some treats.”

     “Treats?! You’re going to need more than that! Did you research this, Juliana? She needs a cage, a collar, and are you potty training her? My God…”

     Potty training her, I wonder. What will that entail?

     “Laurie, I have it all figured out. I fell in love with her picture over the Internet and I’ve looked at thousands of dogs, and I’ll call you once she’s situated. Bye!”

     I hang up. There was always a negativity to Laurie that I couldn’t stand, but low and behold I decide to research a crate.

     I didn’t think of it and what if the dog requires one?

     I decide to call my childhood neighborhood friend who use to have horses in her backyard. We’ve kept in touch all these years and I know she has a dog.

     “Hey Krina,” I say, in a good mood, “It’s Juliana, how are you? I’m getting a dog!” I blurt out.

     She’s happier for me than Laurie. “Oh my God, that’s great! I’m so proud of you,” she says. “You’re not one for commitment or responsibility so this is a big step. Good for you!”

     Not sure how to take that one. “Yeah, okay, hey, do you have a crate for your dog?”

     “Yes, of course I do. Crates are very important.”

     “How do I get one? I’m getting a German Shepherd!” I say again, my voice rising from all the excitement.

     “Wow. That’s a big dog. That’s a lot.”

     I hear concern in her voice. My heart drops a little. “Are you sure you can handle that?” I hear her ask.

     “Umm, sure, yes! I’ve already made up my mind.”

     “Okay, how much does she weigh and how old is she?”

“I’m not sure, let me contact the rescue agency and I’ll get back to you.”

     I pull up the rescue agency’s email on my phone and send another email. “Hi Julie,” I write. She has the same name as me, so I’ve been taking this as a good sign, “It’s Juliana again. A couple of questions. When is the dog’s birthday and how much does she weigh? I think I should get a crate.”

     She quickly writes back. “Yes, you definitely need a crate. You must put the crate in your car so the dog can ride home in it. And we’re not sure of her weight or her birthday. The vet has her at approximately six months old.”

     Vague. Confusing.

     I relay the information to Krina who immediately texts me some links for crates to purchase online. One is a pink crate. It’s adorable, I buy it right away, and have it shipped the same day.

     When it arrives, the crate is too small and looks like something a cat would fit into.

     I take a photograph of it, send it to Laurie, and out comes more negativity. “That German Shepherd will never fit in that cage! You need a big one! As in extra large! She’s going to grow, you know? As in get huge! It’s a GERMAN SHEPHERD!” she exclaims.

     Darn.

     I pack the pink thing up and send it back while ordering something quick at Walmart.

     I am now living in South Carolina since I got blown out of my old apartment in St. Petersburg, Florida, where I was living for the past ten months due to arguing with the landlord over a pest infestation and clamoring air conditioning unit. I learned VERY FAST that the landlord/tenant rights were much different in the state of Florida than they were in California, where I had spent the last eighteen years in Santa Monica in various rent controlled apartments.

     Even though I still paid rent, this guy forced me to move out and I lost my “sales job,” during all this after they pressured me to make “Sales videos,” starring yours truly, me, which I adamantly fought against, and surprise, surprise, even though you’re #1 on the sales team selling cyber-security to hedge funds, I was FIRED.

     It all happened so fast.

     And all this was after I moved to Florida to win back the love of my life, Noel Sheffield, who was the star of my first novel HEDGED which was supposed to be a movie; hence my eighteen year stint in LA, only for that to fall apart, and then Covid happened, and my life went off the rails.

     I’m now living in South Carolina; Mt. Pleasant, to be exact, in a small town where my sister lives off the Isle of Palms, where my father used to own waterfront property but has since sold, and moved back up north full time.

     The South isn’t for me, and I found Florida to be even worse.

     My last job was delivering pizzas on the island, but since I didn’t like the cleaning of the kitchen (yes, that was part of the job,) and I couldn’t fold the pizza boxes fast enough due to terrible arthritis in my fingers, I was fired.

     It was a long fall from grace after rising to a Senior Vice President at a top Wall Street firm selling equities to hedge funds in my thirties.

     Luckily, after a few good years on Wall Street and having to file for disability, I learned that my monthly checks would be approximately $2598. 

     When I filed for disability, that seemed like a lot of money. But when you’re living on it, it’s an entirely different story.

     Yet the checks would be ongoing, and they would afford food and vet bills for the dog, so nothing was stopping me now.

     I wanted to do good for the world. And given my predicament, I felt that rescuing a dog would be the best fit.

     I end up finding a great cage. It’s huge and I set it up myself which takes great strength and patience.

     I also buy a bunch of dog toys, milk bones, and I set up couch cushions all over my floors so the dog doesn’t always have to be in the cage. She can rest her tushy on my comfy cushies. LOL.

    I’m so excited.

    The next day, my first disability check hits my bank account, and I’m off to get my new dog!