MEET OSCAR WILDING

How a "non-animal person" (me) opened her broken heart and adopted a poodle. Plus: new perks for paid subscribers, and 25% off through July!

Thank you for reading Resilience! A little housekeeping. Now through July, take 25% off a paid subscription. If my work nourishes you, consider upgrading to a paid subscription, sharing this post, or gifting a subscription to someone who might benefit. Scroll to the end of the essay for new paid subscriber perks. I deeply appreciate your support, however it works for you. And now for this week’s most playful offering. Enjoy the FEELINGS! xx

Minutes after meeting Oscar Wilding.

1. I am not a dog person

I interrupt our usual programming (and the relentless news cycle—hang in there, everyone) to introduce Oscar Wilding, our rescue poodle. But before I do, I need to explain why it is so miraculous and confusing to the people closest to me that I am now a dog owner.

Let’s just say that when I texted members of my inner circle to tell them I was adopting Oscar, there was a good five minutes of silence, followed by:

“Really?”

See, I am not known to be a dog person. In fact, I have been Larry David-like in my inability to even notice dogs. I have to remind myself to say hello to my loved ones’ dogs. I don’t stop dogs and their owners on the street, exclaiming, "Oh my god, what kind of dog is she?" or, "Can I pet your dog?"

And it’s not just because I’m allergic to most dogs (and all cats) and that if I pet your dog, I will break out into hives and need to use my inhaler.

I just don’t really notice dogs. And, like people who just-aren’t-that-into-babies, I’m just-not-that-into-dogs.

The following, until recently, was my normal.

“Oh, have you not met ChaCha before?” my neighbor asks when I bump into her and ChaCha, her beagle, in town.

“Yes, I’ve met ChaCha,” I remind her, clutching my bag of groceries.

Silence.

Crap, I think, I’m supposed to fuss over ChaCha.

“Hi, ChaCha!” I quickly self-correct in my best baby voice. “Oh my goodness, you’re so cute! Who’s a good boy?”

“Girl,” my neighbor corrects me. “ChaCha’s a girl.”

Silence again.

“Yes, of course, ChaCha’s a girl, and a good girl!”

My neighbor stands there, and ChaCha looks at me blankly. Am I supposed to get down to ChaCha’s level, maybe even pet ChaCha? But my arms are full of groceries! Do I really have to pet ChaCha? ChaCha doesn’t seem to care, but my neighbor does. She’s all “Jesus, Alexa,” with her eyes, “would it kill you to pet ChaCha?!”

Yes, it would! I want to bark back. Or at least, it might give me an asthma attack.

Since the ChaCha episode, I’ve made a conscious effort to fuss over peoples’ pets, especially my friends’ pets, as they fuss over my kids. I don’t want to be like the grumpy lady who hates kids—the “Who brings their screaming baby to a nice restaurant?” sort of person. Even though, let’s face it, I’m the “What sort of person brings their dog to the fancy brunch place?” kind of person.

But enough with my (not so) funny stand-up routine.

How did I get this way?

West and Oscar.

2. A dog broke my heart.

My friend Alyssa, an animal person, has been calling bullshit on my “I’m not an animal person” spiel for years. Allergies aside, it just doesn’t make sense, she says. It’s off-brand. Bizarre. “You’re so loving and friendly!” (Thanks, Alyssa.) “And what about Shadow, your childhood golden retriever? You loved Shadow!” she reminds me.

I did love Shadow, and then Shadow went and died. I know it’s called impermanence-Wilding-look-it-up, but I can’t think about Shadow without bursting into tears and feeling my Pema Chödrön-Buddhist-soft-spot explode in my chest. And even if that heart-opening is supposed to be good for me, it hurts like hell!

Shadow.

I remember hiding with Shadow under my bed the summer my parents fought, their marriage dissolving like sand slipping through my fingers—the sand I would not get to see that summer because they were too busy fighting about money, broken dreams, promises, all the adult things I, as an eleven-year-old clutching my dog's soft body, wanted nothing to do with.

“But Shadow was there for you,” Alyssa reminds me.

Yes, but eight years later, she died, and the animal-loving part of my heart closed up, despite myself, and seemingly for good.

My three sons.

3. I wrestle with my heart.

Now I have kids, and kids want dogs. Since I’m spilling it all here, I should share that I promised West and Lou a dog five years ago. It was a moment of my-heart-is-going-to-break-again desperation. Lou was still in treatment for cancer, puking in pink buckets and eating two Cheerios a day. West was without his twin. My heart hadn’t hurt like that since Shadow said goodbye to me for the last time, pulling herself up from underneath my dad’s dining room table for one last cuddle. I would have promised my kids 100 asthma attack-inducing ChaChas if it meant Lou would eat another Cheerio, that we’d all get out of this alive.

But, a dog? Now?

Things were finally settling down! Everyone was healthy. We had just bought a big old fixer-upper. Money was always tight. Plus, it would really be my dog, as I work from home. And what if we adopted a hypoallergenic Goldendoodle and it turned out to be a real whackadoodle? Some of our friends have crazy dogs! “Yeah, but they love them,” Alyssa reminded me.

Gah.

Pretty-pretty good.

4. I try again.

I don’t know how to bring this essay home. But I will tell you that what I love about Buddhism is the idea that we are innately good. That with every breath, we can try again, no questions asked.

So I did just that. Days before my kids’ birthday, I texted my friend Suleika, an animal person if there ever was one. Within hours, she texted back a 1-year-old, house-trained, good with kids, hypoallergenic, black standard poodle en route from Texas. One look at him and my heart felt 1,000 things until it landed on YES. I decided to name him Oscar Wilding, because he looked like Oscar Wilde and, as many of you know, Oscar was the name of Suleika’s late, most beloved road dog.

Some things are meant to be.

We woke up at 4 a.m. and drove from upstate down to Brooklyn to meet the rescue van. We fell into a puddle of poodle love right there on the cool, early morning sidewalk. My kids couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t believe it!

So, dear patient reader, I leave you with this.

At night, when Oscar Wilding curls up next to me (it’s me he’s chosen to sleep with), I think about Shadow, about all the things that have ever broken my heart. I think about impermanence. How the one thing we know is that this moment isn’t forever, which is a good thing when life hurts, a tough thing when it feels good.

Still, I’m going to try and show up for both.

Wacky Buddhist poodle lady.

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A meditation.

May I be brave enough to love again. Just when I think my heart has opened, may it open more.

Sending love to all. During these continued complex times, find some time for love, for the softening, and (re)opening, of our most resilient hearts.

If you’re looking to adopt and are on the East Coast, I can’t recommend True North Rescue Mission enough. They made it easy, especially for a grump like me!

Love you, Alyssa. And love you, Suleika. And to my friends with animals, I get it now and I’m sorry! May all creatures be safe, happy, healthy and free - you, too, ChaCha!

Feel free to leave some thoughts in the comments. Tell me about your dog, your cat, I’m finally here for it! Or the the time you felt brave enough to love again.

See you next week,

xx Alexa

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New perks for paid subscribers.

Now through July, take 25% off a paid subscription. If my work nourishes you, consider upgrading to a paid subscription, sharing this post, or gifting a subscription to someone who might benefit. (PS if you need access to the above and can’t pay at this time, email me at alexa@alexawilding.com and I will comp you, no questions asked. Believe me, I get it.)

Below are the revised perks! I am super excited for Studio Diary, and to start the free drop-in workshops up again in August (sign-ups coming soon!).

Free subscribers will receive weekly(ish) essays (plus audio) and meditations.

Paid subscribers will receive the above plus:

1. Exclusive access to “Studio Diary,” a twice-monthly invitation into the creative process as I record my first album in eight years and finish my book proposal. How do we (re)commit to our artistic practice after life’s interruptions? I will share it all.

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Thank you for your support! xx

Last Oscar pic for a while I promise. Maybe.