Well, of course we didnt know he was afatherwhen we adopted him.
I abandoned that quest to focus on a more attainable aimsecuring pierced ears.
But Jason had grown up with dogs.
Illustrated by Julia Rothman
When the pandemic forced us indoors, he made his pitch.
Didnt I want a new friend, now that socializing was at an all-time low?
I had known this was in our future.
Photo: Courtesy of Mattie Kahn
After his childhood dog Gus died, he received a photorealistic pillow of him as a gift.
We still have it in our apartment.
So, sure, fine.
Photo: Courtesy of Mattie Kahn
The dog in question needed a haircut, but even I saw the potential.
He was 18 months old and full-size, with a terrier-like build.
I didnt see stars or feel a rush of emotion.
Photo: Courtesy of Mattie Kahn
I didnt fall in love.
Still, I liked the look of him.
He had a certain sweetness.
I blessed the program.
Theres a photo of me collecting him, and I look how I feltnervous and a little stupid.
The first few weeks passed in a blur.
Marvin was so freaked out that we were at one point taking him out to pee in two-hour intervals.
He was defensive around his food bowl.
He didnt know how to walk on a leash.
It snowed and the salt aggravated his paws.
He cried when we tried to leave the apartment.
We tried to crate-train him.
He hated his crate.
He barked at children on skateboards.
He also barked at women with backpacks, a phobia we could not diagnose.
Jason took his side, insisting that some pedestrians do look suspicious.
And somehow, despite all that, I was transformed.
I suffered all the amnesia of the converted.
Had I evernotwanted a dog, I marveled.
Could that have been possible?
That rule lasted 48 hours.
Marvin could stand on his hind legs, which I found charming.
Marvin pawed at his face when he got tired, like a little kid.
Jason and I looked at each other and beamed.
We had gottenthe perfectdog, had we not?
In fairness, with genes like his, no wonder he procreated.
It was Jason who found out.
The two were about the same size, with similar ears and button noses.
The owner of the other doga white furball named Leo, we would soon learnnarrowed her gaze in focus.
Can I explain what happened next without reviving the spirit of Jerry Springer?
Let me give it a go: The woman with the white pup?
Her name is Tara, and she recognized Marvin in an instant.
Like Jason, she knew the PetFinder rigamarole.
Jason did the math.
We had rescued a .
Jason gaped, but Tara kept talking.
She went on to explain that one of Marvinsotherchildren was in the care of her friend Anne.
All three dogs had come from Texas.
All three dogs now lived within a mile of each other on the Upper West Side of Manhattan.
Did Tara want him?
She scooped up Leo, who had come to New York in the same transport as Marvin.
A few weeks later, another son became available, and Tara match-made the rescue with Anne.
It took Jason a few minutes to recover from the shock.
(Did this make us .
Jason and Tara exchanged numbers; Anne and I were soon added to a text thread.
Marvin did not demonstrate atonof paternal instinct, but genetics dont lie.
Marvin is believed to have mated with a rather noble Bichon Frise mix.
He turns out to have no trace of terrier blood at all.
Hes a chihuahua-poodle mix.
He knows how to drive a narrative.
Jason and I continue to find him enchanting.
So do a lot of other people, except for women with backpacks.
