Jojo, originally named Joyce, was skittish, afraid of her own shadow and me, at every step.  

I enlisted Cynthia to help me pick her up at the designated place somewhere in suburban Maryland, where the Canine Humane Network had arranged for people to claim.

Howling in trauma, these 30 homeless dogs had arrived from Texas via transfer truck that night.  

During Covid, after the death from cancer of my sweet gentle Hali, I had been scouring BARCs, Petfinder, SPCAs from Baltimore to southern Virginia, everywhere, for a dog to keep me company. Hali was a faithful, low maintenance English shepherd of unknown origins and stayed in my room, discreetly by the doorway.  Everyone was applying for dogs then.  It was only after appealing with my sob story about losing Hali, that somehow, someone on the application’s other end, saw that I could be a responsible dog-owner. 

I had borrowed a crate from a friend but didn’t even know how to open and lock it.  Cynthia knew. She was once a pet columnist for a magazine. And I anointed her  as Jojo’s godmother.

Jojo was waiting inside a house taken over by the dog rescuers.  She was stunning. She had a classic bird dog confirmation with unusual black and white markings, smeared as if someone had sprinkled them over her and then rubbed the spots in. She had a wild look in her brown eyes, the color of a woodland stream.

I brought along some treats to offer her to make friends.  But she was scared and dodged them.  Friendship seemed a long way off.  Cynthia, who is now an acupuncturist,then stepped in with the magic touch.  She must have found my dog/s pressure points; pretty soon  Joyce was nuzzling her hand.  Cynthia handed over the leash to me.  I held it firm and reached out to pet Joyce, but she cowered, as if I were going to hit her.  I started to  walk, all she wanted to do was lunge in the opposite direction.

I had brought my old expandable leash, but the good rescuers promptly dismissed it in favor of a leash that they had on hand, along with a goody bag full of coupons, food and birth papers.

After I attached the lead, Joyce scampered out in the direction of a shopping center.  I held firm and called out to her but she did not know her name or me. That was when I knew I could change her name–to Jojo.  She just wanted to get away, some place she once called home. Instead of Get Back, as the Beatles sang, I implored, Get Back Here to Where You Belong.

“Hold her tight!” yelled one of the dog savers.  “She is very scared.”

I thought, wait til she gets to my house, a little two-story rowhouse in urban Baltimore. 

I worried whether she would ever adapt.  

And I wondered, where did this terrified dog come from and what had happened to her to make her fear even my hand?

Well, the long story is she came from Australia, an Australian cattle dog.  When the English settlers came to Australia they brought along their sheep dogs, which did not get along in the wide open spaces of the new adopted country.  So they developed a cross between the dingo, and the sheep dog, to come up with both the Australian shepherd, that fuzzy,  friendly looking dog and her cousin, the  sleek, fast Australian cattle dog-herder.  I can see Jojo’s herding instinct, how she will come up and nuzzle my hand, to get me to go on a walk.  Plus she loves to run–and often runs away–as she has done on several occasions. 

On our first trip to the country, with three of my close friends, we walked along a dirt road, lined in tall blue-berried trees mixed with blackberry bushes.

We were enjoying the beautiful outdoors when                                                                                             Jojo broke away in a blur of speed, faster than a horse, or even a car.  I despaired she would never come back but told my friends, let’s wait before we panic. After an hour, she came racing back to the doorstep. That was close, I thought.  At least she was safe in the woods. Suppose she did that in the city!

By last summer, after 4 months, I thought she had acclimated to my home pretty well.  We had been walking regularly, morning and night.   I had invited some friends to dinner.  After weeks of trying to find a date, they all finally committed for dinner at 5:30.  So I took Jojo on a walk at 4:30, along StonyRun, one of the most scenic walks in the city, along a stream in a band of woods full of birds and greenery.We got back in time to take the chicken out of the oven–but somehow the door was left ajar for an instant. Jojo, seeing her opportunity, charged out the door.  I dashed out after her, but she thought I was playing a game.  Down the alley, around the corner, into Keswick Road, she plunged – where I knew she would be run over.  Promptly at 5:30, she stopped traffic. My dinner guests were at the front of the stalled traffic, as a policeman–who happened to be a K-9 specialist–screeched to a halt, leaped out of his car, and tried to catch and reach out to my runaway dog. 

I was waiting in the alley with a treat and her leash..  The policeman herded Jojo towards me, where I was waiting with some of her favorite treats.  (Yes, herding can work both ways.) Not interested, she ran right past me.  I signaled to the policeman the direction to my back door, and we herded her inside.  

Meanwhile my dinner guests were marveling at the wild dog running around in the street.  They apologized for being late, and laughed when they recognized Jojo.  “That was YOUR dog!” Katie said as she handed me a bottle of wine.

Since then Jojo has gotten into other trouble.  At dog school, she failed.  She wouldn’t lie down on command.  And on graduation day when at doggie play time, she just kept running around and around and wouldn’t come when called. For 15 minutes, she had the class of obeying mutts with their owners in hostage as we tried to catch her. Elizabeth, the patient dog trainer, helped to herd her into Howl, the adjoining gourmet dog store, where we cornered her amid bongs and bitable bones.

These days,  instead of running away as much, her major habit is chewing up and eating anything she can find.   I have a whole drawer full of socks nibbled at the toe or heel.  She snarfed up three pieces of a jigsaw puzzle the family was slaving over for three days over Christmas only to discover those three critical pieces missing.  She’s dined on the edge of my best Oriental rug.

I might have given up, if not for Cynthia, who is always there with a solution.  She and her husband Mark have invited us to their home with a fenced-in yard in the wilds of Baltimore County that is perfect for Jojo to run around in.  Her two very domestic cats are fairly welcoming, given that they are natural enemies and Jojo usually goes into her house and eats up their food.  I have spent some relaxing times on Cynthia and Mark’s porch with Jojo curled up at my feet and the cats at bay in the kitchen.  Yes, Jojo has learned to curl up and relax.

Today I am celebrating her first birthday, the anniversary of her arrival into my home, and Cynthia’s birthday.  What a pleasure!  Now when I wake up, instead of sleeping in my room, she trots up the steps and wags her tail and looks at me as if to say, It’s time to get up.  She doesn’t bark except when strange people come to my door, like she snarled with bared teeth at candidate Wes Moore (now governor) who came campaigning in the neighborhood  a few months ago. That was ok, we had a nice talk through the glass door.

At Common Grounds,she waited tied up to a column while I ordered my cappuccino.  Lots of people came up and talked dogs as I sipped my coffee on the deck. Where did you get your dog? What is your dog’s name?  Easy conversation -starters.  It paved the way for a milkbone from the waitress who eyed Jojo through the window. A puppy approached with his owner,more pets and geniality.  

My daughter Emma has tapped into Jojo’s intelligence.  She has taught her her to spin, lie down, and shake hands.  Jojo will crawl into her lap like a cockapoodle, one of those real lap dogs.  But she still loves to run in the country. I will not let her loose in the city for fear she will run into a car, and not be so lucky as she was to encounter a Baltimore city policeman with a love of dogs.

But so many people do love dogs, including me.  They bring out the love in us.  

Happy birthday, Jojo and Cynthia!

(Do check out adoptions, at Canine Humane Network. More are now available much more frequently.)