I wanted a weimaraner.
Been wanting one since I was a kid.
Something about those dogs on sesame street.
And then those beautiful photographs from William Wegman.
Like most things I keep visuals all around of what I wish to have in my life.
I am also very realistic – allowing both whimsicalities & practicalities to lead the way when goal setting
Weimaraners aren’t house dogs.
And I’ve lived in an apartment all my life.
But that didn’t subside how much I wanted a dog.
Cause (shh) truth-be-old, I really wanna another baby.
A nice chunky, brown one that I can cuddle & squeeze & love, knowing it’s gonna be my last.
Ideally, i envision a modest house with an old lazy dog, a big majestic lookin one, and a chubby baby.
But the house required for both big dog & lil baby aren’t in the financial forecast right now.
I figure – you can give a dog away if it doesn’t work out, a baby, not so much.
But that doesn’t mean that I stop working towards those things. That doesn’t mean I stop visualizing.
As a matter of fact, I start dog walking other people’s dogs at this time.
I was making money and closely aligning myself with my desires.
I was waiting patiently and figuring out what could work for me in the meantime.
In this case, I said, how can I combine a cuddly baby and a house dawg?
Cute and semi-sluggish just like me?
I start on my research.
Because yes, visualization is one part, but them goggles –
Boy them googles’ll make you feel like you can reach out & touch shit. Right?
And that’s the point. We wanna feel what it is we desire. The emotion behind what we want is where the real magic happens. Where things begin to click. (This is why it’s so important to read your goals aloud).
So I tell the internet what I want, the room I have to spare, that I ain’t big on feisty dogs and that I really wanna baby but….
and the search results come back bulldog.
And I’m like duh.
They are little fat baby humans.
A dog so ugly that it’s den turned cute over the centuries.
Loyal. Good with kids. Short-haired. Barely barks and will you LOOK at those chunky rolls?!
Then just like that.
That’s all I started to see.
A bulldog here. A bulldog there.
For the last year and a half, ya girls been manifestin’ nothin but bulldogs.
I even went so far as to sign up for a GA bulldog newsletter.
A newsletter that would alert me when an adopted one became available because, duh, bulldogs are expensive.
I mean a good one will cost you two grand and a betta one will one will cost you four, so in my mind, I need to cast my net wide – lookn for a steal. The newsletter was how I’d feel out the market; lay the foundation, get the puppy I wanted at the price I desired or I ‘minus-well’ have a baby.
I set a target date.
Watching the newsletter closely knowing that gone are the days where I buy frivolous knick-knacks for holidays. This Christmas we’re getting a dog. Then and there, I decided I’ll buy a big red bow to go on her back and present her to my dog-lovin kids on Christmas morning, just like in the movies.
But my power of manifestation is so strong, so active within my imagination in the meantime, in-between time, that we ain’t make it to Christmas.
On Labor Day. I went to go visit my grandmother in Chicago and came back with a dog .
And this is where shit not linin up how you thought it was comes into play.
It’s the day before we leave.
My grandmas neighbor of forty years calls my cousin while we’re all hangin out in the yard.
He says, “Know anybody wanna dog?” My mom overhears and says, “What kind?”
Five minutes later a floppy eared bulldog puppy runs down the street.
Aside from her original name being, “Lil Bitch”, she was perfect. My kids fell in love. And, here’s the kicker. He was giving this thousand-dolla dog away!
I had to get her home.
But. My grandparents are old and black which basically means they hate dogs.
I’m sure it has a lot to do with the civil rights movement but their verbal reasoning is simple –
“Shouldn’t nobody that ain’t payin no bills live in no house for free”. I’ve heard this speech for years so knew I couldn’t involve them in the transaction, the transport, the nothin’. They could never find out. If they knew I had this dog, I’d never hear the end of it. I knew not to ask them for a got damn thing! (Also one of their age-old phrases).
I went to bed that night thinking, “Well that was nice. I almost had what I wanted”
I woke up the next morning like, “I ain’t deaf, dumb or dead. Why am I not getting what I want?!”
I jumped up.
Rummaged through my phone, trying to get in touch with my cousin, to get in touch with the neighbor, so I could then get in touch with the airline. With 6 hours left until we boarded our flight, I needed to find out how I can get this puppies papers, packing supplies and pay for her ass to get on this plane. But even with all that to do, the thing that scared me the most was my black ass grandparents.
Fast forward three hours.
We got the papers. We got the puppy.
The puppy who nervously shit on me while walking into the Walmart for airplane puppy supplies.
And I don’t know if you’ve ever been stared at by a Walmart greeter while you clean up dog shit at their foot, but for me, it twas a new low.
Covered in piss & poop – pushing a skittish puppy in the shopping cart, I headed to the pet section.
Pushing the cart with one hand and purchasing the airline ticket for our new family member in the other.
All while throwing her in and out of FAA approved travel crates; trying each on for size. (If you bought a carrier recently at the Walmart in Waukegan, Illinois. Sorry for the mess).
It was at that moment that I thought, “Maybe this wasn’t meant to be. Maybe I should just wait. Stick with my original plan to buy them a puppy for the holidays”. And just like that, more disapproving thoughts followed. “Yeah this was a bad idea Destiny. What if she gets worms? You can’t take care of a dog right now. What if she’s not even a real bulldog? Was she giving her away because she had dog cancer? Where? How? Will? Instead of having faith, I planted one seed of doubt and that’s all it took to consume me. Right there in aisle 11. I don’t know who was shakin more, me or the anxiety ridden Lill Bitch.
To some, this would have been a moment of realistic awakening. A time to take the dog back to it’s owner while I still had time.
But for me? This is where the whimsical-practicality comes in because I just kept seeing the word “buy” make its way into my internal negotiating system.
I could buy this dog later at regular price or take what the universe is giving me now for free. The only thing standing in between you and the physical image on your vision board is your black grandparents. And if it makes you feel better, one is hard of hearing and the other is partially blind. If you don’t grab this 18 x 11 crate off this shelf and get yo black ass on this flight you betta!
It was the only pep talk I needed.
My mom, my two kids – we all agreed.
If the dog barks in the backseat on the way to the airport, we’d blame it on my youngest kid.
Wag our finger and scold her, “What did I tell you about barking like a dog Mylo?! Stop this foolishness at once!”
With an hour and half ride beginning soon, this was our only plan.
We’d place the travel crate, which looked like a piece of luggage, under my oldest daughters feet.
And if my overly helpful granddad tried to help get this bag in or out, she’d decline and say, “I got it”.
I ran in the house quickly after the Walmart shit show.
Hoping nobody noticed (or smelled) my shit-stained clothes-
washed up, checked under the bed for my charger or belt. (I always leave a charger or belt at my grandmas).
And ran out the door; whole family seated theatericatrically in the backseat, luggage on laps and under feet, ready to go.
It looked like a black stage play was set to begin.
My grandparents talked about the usual en route to the airport.
Who got locked up. Who died. Whose kids hair fell out on the count of ringworm.
I was halfway listening to her, halfway listening for any dog sounds (or smells) I’d need to cover up.
There were none.
67 minutes later we arrived at the airport without a peep or pee from our new lil’ puppy.
Four hours later and we’d landed in Atlanta with still no peep or poop.
We checked on her from time to time but she was just there, chillin.
Everything had aligned just how it should have.
And when I got home, I was happy with my decision.
Happy that I recognized this as something I’d put out in the universe.
Happy that the universe heard me and instead of going along with my ‘jolly-red-bow-on-christmas’ idea, shook it up a bit to see just how bad I wanted it.
It occured to me that if I’m going to go on this spiritual journey, attracting all this stuff all willy-nilly; all that is meant for me – then I’d have to be able to identify my wishes when they are presented, as is. I’d have to be sensitive and aware to the signs, symbols, solutions and self talk. I’d have to be able to know that somethings are not going to go according to my plan but the one He has set for me. It doesn’t mean that “Him dont hear me”, it means that He’s rubbing his hands like birdman seeing how he can shake shit up a bit. How bad do you really want this Destiny? What literal shit are you willing to go through to get it? And are you really that scared of your black ass grandparents? The answer to the latter is, yes. Yes. I am still scared of them.
But a month later, and they still have no idea we’re pet owners.
We managed to pull off the biggest heist in black-grandparent history.
And the pup? Her name is Bando. Bando the Bulldog. And she fits in our apt-home perfectly. As for me? I’m one step closer to having my dream of owning a small dog, a big dog and a brown chunky baby. Just the way the universe intended.