DJ and a Potential Move Across the World

When deciding to move across the world, the logistics become barriers. One of those logistics are pets. As DINKS (Double Income No Kids), our pets were our children. And we had to consider what was in his best interest. Would DJ be healthy enough to travel? We figured out a way to get him to New York in coach, but he’d have to go from New York to Spain in Cargo. He had a heart murmur. Could he make the trip? The guilt if he died in transit would be overwhelming. We couldn’t risk him dying alone and afraid while we rode above him with the cat. 

DJ was always an anxious old man trapped in a young dog’s body. In late 2024, he was thirteen years old, arthritic, with a level three heart murmur. More than that, he was a shadow. With severe separation anxiety dating back to his days as a puppy being rescued from an Animal Hoarder’s house. Once he landed with us, he was by our side every step we took. At the age in which we lost our other pet, our vet told us to try and keep him from going up and down stairs as much as possible. Yet he didn’t listen to our attempts to keep him upstairs due to his FOMO. After filling out another job application, this one to a Head of School position in Singapore, a place to which I was very unsure he’d survive the flight, I needed to drop something off downstairs. As I walked to the stairs, our forty-one pound lab/shepard (we think? Maybe border collie?) mix pulled himself to his feet and accompanied me to the top of the stairwell. 

Becki picked DJ up when he was twelve weeks old from a frat house in Phoenix, Arizona. She met the frat boy at the park, who arrived with DJ, sans leash. DJ was riding a skateboard, three paws on the board, pushing along with his back foot. As she learned about his history, she found out he’d been adopted on a whim by one of the frat brothers who saw him at a Humane Society of an outdoor mall. To wonder why the Arizona Humane Society would adopt a vulnerable young puppy out to a fraternity would be the right question. However, the Maricopa County Animal Shelter hosted events like fifteen dollar dog day and free cat day because of the overwhelming number of animals. Having enough money to adopt a pet seemed to be the standard because of the overwhelming number of animals, so this bro got himself a cute little black lab puppy with giant floppy ears and a silly grin. The bro paid enough attention to learn that the puppy had been forcibly removed from an animal hoarder’s home in Phoenix, and was likely on the television show “Animal Cops Phoenix”, which in its own reflects the seriousness of the unwanted animal situation in the city. Frat Boy was sold. He picked up the puppy, named him Slayer and took him home where he taught him the vital puppy skill of how to ride a skateboard. After a couple of weeks of raising Slayer on pizza and beer, Frat boy decided having a puppy is hard and that he needed money. He posted DJ on Craigslist and tried to get his adoption fee back. 

We’d lost our dog Duke, a regal statesman of a labrador who had a personality we determined was representative of all we aspired to be a couple of months prior to Bone Cancer at the age of two. After grieving and being a one dog one cat household for two months, we decided it was time to get another dog, a playmate for our increasingly spoiled two year old beagle/cocker spaniel mix (also a rescue) Carter. So, after a little bargaining - one of Becki’s strong suits, she drove away alone but stopped when she heard yelling, saw the frat boy running with little Slayer in his arms, acquiescing to a reasonable price to allow us to take Slayer home, change his name to DJ (Duke Junior), and make him part of our family. In return, DJ grew to about 50 pounds, his big floppy ears turned into tiny floppy hearing devices which resembled bat wings as he ran. He loved us and showed it by becoming attached at the hip and angrily barking anytime he heard the unmistakable grinding sounds of a skateboard rolling on pavement. 

“DJ, I’ll be right back. Just wait here,” I soothed, while pushing my extended hand toward him in the universal pet-owner sign for stay, holding a full basket of newly folded clothes against my hip. DJ stared back with his pleading deep brown eyes, the light glaring off the milky backdrop of his cataracts. Thinking he got the hint, I headed down the stairs. Upon reaching the bottom of the stairs, the sound of slow clomping of feet began as he made his way down to the halfway point of the stairwell and turned the corner. I waited at the bottom, holding the basket of folded clothes, ready to be put away and stopped him again. 

“DJ, it’s fine. Don’t come down here. It’s not worth it. Go back upstairs buddy,” I pointed back to the top of the stairs where Becki called his name. DJ looked to the top of the stairs and started to walk back toward stairs leading to our main floor. Satisfied, I continued into the guest room where my daily clothes were located, set the basket on the bed and began to put the articles away. As I grabbed my jeans and turned toward the dresser, I was greeted with the same pleading brown eyes, hilariously too small ears pointed pathetically backward and a bushy black tail waving back and forth. The FOMO was too strong. He couldn’t miss out on standing in my vicinity.

“DJ, what is wrong with you? I was going to be less than a minute!” Laughter emanated from upstairs as I tried to plead with the old man who had the mind of a toddler, thinking no means yes and wait means for just a second. I set my jeans in the drawer, grabbed the basket and headed back upstairs, scratching his head and rolling my eyes as I passed. “Let’s go buddy.” 

How was he going to spend one hour, let alone eight in a crate in the cargo hold of the plane. It seemed cruel. He wouldn’t understand. With his heart murmur, giving him medication that would knock him out was out of the question. Considering these possibilities, my anxiety grew alongside DJ’s ever-present neurotic nervousness. You can forcibly remove the dog from the hoarder’s house, but you can never remove the experience of the hoarder’s house from the dog.