In the second grade, we were introduced to the world of persuasive writing. After the lesson, we were instructed to write our own persuasive essays. Without hesitation, I knew what I would write about—why I needed a dog. Sure, it was a classic topic, the easy topic that kids would choose to write about because it was convenient. But for me, it was more than a convenience. I could picture my future dog, and I yearned for it.
I dreamed of becoming a veterinarian to have all the dogs I ever wanted—big, small, fluffy, lazy, playful—I wanted them all. But, at age seven, I didn’t want to wait until I became a vet to get a dog.
So, I poured my heart into my essay, scribbling down every reason I needed to get a dog. I finished the essay and proudly presented it to my parents, hoping it would work. Unfortunately for me, I was met with a simple “no.” Usually, to let kids down easy, parents say ‘maybe’ or ‘we’ll consider it,’ but I was just told “no.”
“When you become a vet and have kids of your own, you can get all the dogs in the world,” my mom said, as if that were any consolation.
But I was never good at talking about my feelings. So, instead of talking to my mother about it, I stomped up to my room. When I finally got to my room, I slammed my door so loudly that the mirror hanging from it came crashing down like ice shattering on pavement. And when I cried, I made sure my parents could hear the painful whining. I was cute, but not cute enough for my cries to convince them to get me a dog.
Kids are forgetful. Though I still wanted a dog, I knew it wasn’t happening. So, I put my persuasion skills elsewhere and asked for more minor things. That was until my mom called me downstairs one night in third grade. “Orli, Julia, come here. My friend just posted this dog on Facebook. Look how cute she is.”
I was irrevocably in love. Her shiny black and white coat glistened from the portrait mode picture flashing on my mother’s computer.
“PLEASEEEE. Can we please get her?!” I pleaded.
“Are you crazy?! We are not just going to buy some random dog off of Facebook,” my mother sternly replied.
But I was not going to take no for an answer. Later that night, my sister and I snuck back downstairs and were greeted by the blue light of my mom’s computer. Like hackers on an undercover mission, we put my mom’s password in and were again greeted by the picture of the unnamed dog.
“How do we buy the dog?” I asked my older, but not much more mature, sister.
“I think we should instant message them,” she replied.
So that is precisely what we did. I looked up to my sister, so I followed her direction. We DM’d Big Dog Rescue Project without hesitation, saying, “We want the dog.”
My sister and I stared at the screen, waiting for a reply. Minutes passed, and my mom’s computer started to get dark, but before losing hope, a miracle occurred. We got an answer.
“Hi! Please fill out the application on our website,” Mary Jo from Big Dog Rescue Project Replied.
“Orli, we can’t do this. Mommy and Daddy are gonna be so mad at us,” Julia said.
“We can’t stop now. I want this dog.”
Even though my sister is older than me, I was always the wild child. She sat back nervously as I, an eight-year-old, filled out the application. All sorts of random questions that I had no answers to popped up.
“Have you ever had a pet? And, if so, what type?”
“A goldfish named Sunrise,” I replied.
“What are the dimensions of your backyard? Is it fenced in?”
“Sure…?”
After answering more confusing questions, we clicked submit. I stared at the “Thank you for filling out the application” message on the screen and then at my sister.
We were in too deep now. There was no turning back.
“We have to tell mom and dad,” Julia insisted.
We crept upstairs and into my parents’ room. Nervously sitting on the edge of their bed, I had to spit it out.
“That dog you showed us earlier today… we filled out an application.”
My parents laughed in my face. “Nice joke, Orli,” my father said. After I stared at him blankly, he knew I was serious.
“You did what?!?!” my mother screamed.
My sister and I nervously ran out of their room and retreated to her room right next to my parents’. We kept our ears close to the door, ensuring we could hear the conversation between our parents. At first, it sounded heated, like fast and loud murmurs, but it soon turned to a civilized conversation, which we could no longer hear.
The days slowly passed, and I tried to avoid my parents, but when Saturday rolled around, there was a change in attitude. I was woken up bright and early, and we headed to Mendham, where Mary Jo, the founder of Big Dog Rescue Project, lived.
As we drove, I looked at the big, blooming trees and all the empty land, thinking of how much the dog would enjoy running free in a big forest.
Arriving at Mary Jo’s house, my family and I were immediately greeted by the dog, who we learned was named Piper. Her radiant energy shone bright as her tail wagged wildly, smacking into my body with every move. My sister, mother, and I were convinced we needed her; now we just needed to get my dad on board.
Mary Jo let us take Piper on a walk. My sister and I held the leash, but she looked back at my father with every step. My dad likes to act tough, but Piper’s puppy eyes made him crack.
He was utterly outnumbered with an extra girl in the household but gained a new best friend.
