I wanted a poodle; I got a pit bull instead. There were so many unwanted cats and dogs in cages up at the NYC animal shelter on 110th Street and 1st Avenue that I got lightheaded and went outside. It was the end of winter when the influx of dogs who were puppies under the Christmas tree come pouring into pounds; once the responsibility of a full-grown dog hits home, often those dogs lose their homes.
  There were no poodles. There were some purebred dogs but often there were mixed breeds; Rottweillers with a splash of Husky, Labradors with a touch of Pit Bull. These were dogs with a little history and a lot of soul; something that would take me longer to appreciate.
  I felt overwhelmed that so many of these dogs would be euthanized and there was very little I could do. A volunteer, a charming, old Asian woman, came out with a fawn colored 65lb, adult female Pit Bull mix that was far too regal to be homeless. The dog looked at me with desperation and hope. The volunteer saw that the pound experience was draining me. She calmly looked at me and said in her broken English, "You come here and save one, then it's hope for all the others."
  I looked down at the dog she had with her. I felt her panic that she might have to go back into her cage; that this might be her only chance to live. The volunteer gave me the leash and I tried walking her and getting her to sit but both the dog and I were nervous and didn't really know what to do. Her eyes seared through me, she needed me; no one had ever really needed me before. This was the dog I was meant to have, she found me.
  Juno. The dog could only be named after a Goddess who protected women as that's what she did the instant I got her. You want to ask me for some spare change? Clear it with my dog first. You want to ask directions? Again, check with Juno first. I thought I had rescued Juno from the shelter, but as soon as I had her home, she gave me more than I could ever give her. It wasn't just her immediate protection it was her immediate love.
  When I told people about the dog I got, some were supportive and some warned me about getting an adult dog as opposed to a puppy due to the problems that might come with their past years. If already knowing how to walk on a leash, being housetrained and not chewing on everything in sight are the "problems" an adult dog comes with, I'll take it.
  Things were lonely as I was in big, new city. I had packed on some pounds and was depressed about not having a glamorous life the instant I walked into Manhattan. The responsibility of Juno kept me up and walking, quickly shedding those pounds and meeting an entire society of people who revolved their world around their loyal canines at the dog run. Juno licked my face when I was home sick in bed. She wagged her tail in excitement as we cheered the Rangers onto their first Stanley Cup in 54 years together. And truth be told, Juno was a friend when there weren't many around.
  Thanks to this dog I learned so many things I never would have known without her. Juno and I explored every nook and cranny of Central Park. We met dynamic dog owners at countless canine gatherings from Brooklyn to Boston. And we have become active participants in the heart-powered animal rescue community; over the last ten years, we have rescued, fostered and adopted out ten dogs and twenty kittens. Not a big number, but every life saved is a life saved and we do our part.
  When Juno ruptured two discs in her back and the doctors said I could either put her to sleep or take a chance on surgery, what choice did I have? This dog, then eight years old, had saved me, was I not supposed to save her back?
  Till my dying day I will never forget bringing her home from her surgery when she did something so very human and yet so very dog. As I sat in the back of the car with her, she faced me and heavily laid her head on my shoulder like a grateful friend. I am quite sure it was her way of saying, "thanks for not giving up on me, we'll make it through." However, she came out of the surgery as she went in: paralyzed.
  Despite exercise, hydrotherapy and a wheel chair/doggy cart (which she seemed to find insulting) still no results. To say it was taxing on me and everyone around me to care for a then eighty pound pit bull mix who couldn't walk was an understatement, but I also saw the situation bring out such profound kindness in those around me. My mother would position Juno on her bed so the sun shining through the window would hit her. My boyfriend would hoist all eighty pounds of her at midnight so she could go to the bathroom outside and not have the indignity of soiling herself. My father would drive us to hydrotherapy at eight a.m. on a Saturday and adamantly proclaim that Juno would walk again.
  After eight months of this I wondered if I should euthanize her. In desperation, I learned of Dr. Charles Khouri in Miami. His Website, www.dogparalysis.com, said he had a liquid compound that helped paralyzed dogs walks. I said, "Why not?" And sure enough, after taking a liquid compound orally for seven days, Juno walked. It was just a few steps and reminded me of a crooked drunk, but on a cold winter night she marched herself back indoors and I watched completely stunned. Rather quickly her walking improved, soon to the point where she was back on a leash walking Manhattan, her pride restored, her determination solidified.
  Juno, twelve years old now, is at the point where she is the best she will be. We can walk twenty blocks and all through our beloved Central Park but she is very slow, albeit very happy. The surgeries have aged her quite a bit and now, at age twelve, she's not as cheery as she used to be, however, she still gets a smile out of everyone. People need her. They need to see an underdog, literally, taking on the odds. They need to hear me tell them that she did not walk and now she does. They need to know her hope and her strength. They need to know that if an old dog like her hoped her way to happiness, they can too.
  Every single person who stops to pet her has only heartfelt praise to say - every person except for her veterinarian who cannot come up with something scientific to explain why she is walking and will not accept the reason I am sure of - hope.
  Hope in its purest form. Hope in its most desperate shape. Hope in a pit bull on death row finding her way to a life of luxury and love. Hope in an old dog on her last legs making her walk. If this once forgotten dog at the pound taught me that every single hope we have is possible, imagine what that desperate, lonely, forgotten dog on death row could do for you? Right now, that dog is waiting for you…and hoping.

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