I was not keen. The fact that we were working full-time, rebuilding a home, and preparing ourselves for new responsibilities as short-term rental hosts inspired no desire to take on the burdens of pet ownership. We didn’t even OWN the home yet! But it was a daily discussion that just would not go away, no matter how hard I tried to reason or navigate away from. Where will this hypothetical puppy stay while we’re at school 5 days a week, 8 hours a day, 9 months out of the year? Do we crate the dog? How do we build a fence for the yard that barely exists? Will the dog chew tools, rip sheets, ingest something toxic? Wouldn’t the dog deter guests from renting our space? Bark and be obnoxious? What if this dog simply turns out to be an asshole?!

“Once we own the house, we’ll get a dog.” It was the only way I could stave off the constant conversation, I thought that it would buy me some time to make the case that maybe a dog isn’t in our best interests. It worked, for a bit. Dog-related projects/ideas seemed to fade and Isabel was no longer attempting to make me out to the bad guy on social media - no more of the ‘like this post 400 times and Kevin says we can get a dog!’ (which I never agreed to in the first place, by the way). As it became more and more likely that we were actually going to own this house, the topic slowly began to resurface: “Once we own the house, we will get a dog, right!?” I would passively agree, fully intent on prolonging an adoption for as long as I could. A dog was just another variable in this new life and how many variables were we willing to to take on??

The day arrives, November 29, 2018. The day Isabel goes to St. Thomas to sign the papers that would formally declare us homeowners. It worked out that I was able to stay on island and take care of things at the school. For me, the day flew by, a little anxious that there may be some small hiccup, but generally confident that we’d be homeowners by the end of the day. It’s the end of the school day and Isabel starts blowing up my phone with messages urging me to come down to the parking lot. Papers were signed and I figured it was some sort of celebration. I dragged my feet a little bit, not wanting to act uncool in front of all the students, but she was relentless. With the mini-van now in sight, it’s obvious something is up, there are students huddled around the car making weird teenage excited noises and gestures. Shit.

“His name is JP!” Shit. “I just picked him up from the vet!” Shit. “He was just neutered.” Ok. “They said we can take him home!” Shit.

There was this somewhat emaciated, sandy-colored puppy flat on the floor of the mini-van whose eyes were struggling to make sense of what was happening, totally unaware of where he was or what was going on. Turns out, he was from Virgin Gorda, in the British Virgin Islands. He was rescued off the street and sent to the St. John Animal Care Center the day before. It was his first full day on St. John. He had just been neutered. And now middle schoolers were clamoring to rouse him hoping that he’d be wanting to play. We just bought a house and now we have a dog. I had underestimated how literal Isabel could be.

“Once we own the house, we’ll get a dog.” Hours. Isabel signed the papers around noon, formally declaring us homeowners, and her first act under this new title was to head straight to the vet and pick out a dog. “JP” as they called him, was the only dog eligible for foster/adoption that day. I had a dog before I was able to step into my new home as an official homeowner.

I wasn’t mad, I just felt sort of dumb. Of course Isabel found the loophole, she didn’t do anything wrong, she played my game and beat me! And now that the anesthesia is beginning to wear off, he started to show us his personality. The ears perked up, he curiously began to sniff, and his tail started to dance. Aside from the color of his fur, he really resembled one of our favorite characters from the Disney movie Coco.

It was then that Dante became Dante. He’s our spirit animal, forever connected with the house and with us. He’s a terror-ier, but not an asshole. He’s unusually vocal, but not obnoxious. Guests choose to stay with us BECAUSE of Dante. He’ll gnaw on conchs, tears up flip-flops, and break things, but he’s a dog and that’s what dogs do. He’s made peace with our closest neighbors and visits them daily to say hello, collect table offerings, and occasionally snuggle. He was crated for, like, a day and now sleeps between us nightly, mindful and aware of the tiny human growing inside Isabel. Now, Dante often rides with me on maintenance calls and is present while we work. He’s a goof, the ‘handsome-host,’ a lump of a dog, a surrogate child, a ‘pooba,’ a ‘snorty-snoo,’ me boi, and a valued member of this growing family.

He’s a good dog.