Mr. Henderson

When you adopt a rescue dog -- which everyone should do, and also you should spay and neuter your pets, and don't you dare buy a dog from a puppy mill -- sorry, where was I? Oh, right. When you adopt a rescue dog, you just accept that you'll never really know what happened to that dog before she came into your life.

In Lola's case, all I know is that the Houston SPCA got her on October 31, 2007. Her left eye was badly infected and they removed it the next day. Lone Star Rescue took her in, I adopted her in June, and it was the best thing I've ever done in my entire life.

When I was up in Dallas, so that Lola could meet Princess Poo-Face, my parents and I speculated endlessly about what could have happened in Lola's prior life. After all, Lola is so socialized, so loving, so smart, so adorable -- who could have possibly owned this dog but not loved her? Who could have abandoned her? The very idea is absurd.

Since we were never going to know the truth anyway, we created the story that made the most sense to us. We created Mr. Henderson. Internet, I give you Lola's imagined history.

Lola was owned by an elderly widower named Mr. Henderson. He must have been old, because Lola tends to be rather slow on walks, and an old person wouldn't have walked very quickly. He must have been male, because Lola is so much more friendly to males than females. We decided that Mr. Henderson's children bought Lola for him when his wife died, to cheer him up a bit and give him a reason to get up in the mornings. When he died, no one else could take the dog, and somehow she ended up at a shelter.

Mr. Henderson explains so many things. Lola is perfectly housebroken -- Mr. Henderson must have taken care of that. Lola walks to heel -- Mr. Henderson must have trained her. Lola sits quietly when you put on her harness, even though she's desperately excited to go outside -- Mr. Henderson must have taught her that.

Lola plays fetch. Lola obeys "drop it." Lola sleeps quietly through the night. Lola barks when a stranger is at the door. My parents kept commenting on how well-behaved she is. I wish I could take a scrap of credit for it, but the truth is that she's simply a well-trained dog who is loving and eager to please, and I totally lucked out. All her habits show that Lola was owned by someone who cared about her, and cared enough to teach her manners.

Mr. Henderson became our icon for everything that is good about Lola. We started to talk about him like he was a real person. "Mr. Henderson must have really taken care of her; look how socialized she is." "Mr. Henderson must have cuddled with her in the evenings; look how she always wants to play with you after dinner." "Mr. Henderson would be so happy to know that Lola is safe and happy and in a loving home."

That's our story. We talked about it so much that we all started to believe it. But new information has come to light, and it's possible that there's not an iota of truth to the whole thing.

But that's a story for another day.

P.S. I've always thought of Mr. Henderson as the guy from this Aimee Mann song.