Weegee
Fates Go Marching In
This story comes from Emily-Bell Dinan of Brooklyn, New York:
In April 2007, after far too many hours spent in the library, I stopped off in the East Village to meet a friend for lunch. Exiting the subway, I accidentally found myself in the middle of the ASPCA's 140th birthday celebration and adoption event. So instead of going to eat, it seemed like the natural choice to be late to lunch in order to look at homeless animals.
At the event, I came across the world's most forlorn, jet-black Greyhound/Labrador puppy. His name was Sean Paul. (His cage-mate went by Justin Timberlake.) I learned that Sean Paul was first adopted when he was two months old. Then, he was returned. At three months, he'd been adopted again. Then, returned. At four months, I found him.
The timing was perfect. I was still a bit heartbroken over my childhood pup, Daisy, dying of cancer a few years earlier, and I had just moved from Queens to Brooklyn, thus acquiring my first backyard. I fell in love, ran into the nearest pet store for food, and took the poor thing home. I tried to call him Batman, but that was immediately vetoed by my sister and then-roommates. After many ideas, we finally decided on "Weegee," after the famous NYC crime-scene photographer.
For four and a half years, we've been completely inseparable. I work only a few blocks from home and a 10-minute walk to Prospect Park—a great combination for a city dog. He now has a neighborhood following of little kids who jump off their stoops to hug him as we walk by. His interests include, but are not limited to: following my every move, bandanas, grooming and spooning the cat, peanut butter, snow, and fielding my softball games.
I can't remember what the world was like before this dog. He’s absolutely the best medicine, keeping me calm, happy and focused. And he’s a true member of the family; even my mom sends him treats in the mail.