Fork in the Road

This is a tale of how two souls from different worlds came to be one soul family, one of the human race and one of the canine race. It would take great heartache from both of their past to bring them together. As fate will have it, a girl and her four-legged girl furriend would have to take a leap of faith to find their second chance in life.

There once was a young child, thirsty and drinking tap water while visiting Mexico, who would later face a life-threatening illness. It had come to light; the water she drank was unsanitary, and parasite-infected which caused her to be diagnosed with epilepsy. Krystal was full of life, funny, creative, and enjoyed the little things in life. She lived life and never felt sorry for herself; this was one of the many fantastic things I admired about her.

I believe the curveball she caught in life made her work even harder to achieve her dreams and reach her goal in the film industry world. Due to her seizures, she had to ride the city bus everywhere. She walked three blocks to the bus stop from our apartment in North Hollywood. Then rode the bus for over an hour to get to and from work. It was a chilly winter day when ABC called her and invited her to be a part of their casting team! A-longtime dream now so close, becoming a reality.

Krystal achieved her dream and made it a mission to make sure I fulfilled my dreams. My life was like a revolving door going around and around, in and out of interview after interview. My hopes and dreams were slowly slipping away with each rejection. My inner voice was telling me I was not good enough. One thing about Krystal was she did not play that game. So, the night before my next interview with Pilgrim Media Group, Krystal pretended to be the interviewer. She encouraged and helped me get mentally prepared. This positive woman lifted my spirit and taught me to believe in myself. I landed the job! Thank you, Krystal, my role model.

On January 26, like any other day, I woke up and got out of bed in our two-story, four-bedroom, two-and-a-half-bathroom condo. I walked across the hall to the community bathroom, adjacent to Krystal's master bedroom with a private bathroom. Along the way, I heard Krystal's upbeat music playing. As an avid music lover, it was a morning ritual she did to get pumped up for the day. Her favorite place on earth was the Coachella Music Festival. Hoping she had some vitamin B, I knocked on her bedroom door. Although I heard her shower water start to run, there was no response. So, I continued my morning task.

Before entering the shower, I placed my right hand under the warm running water, checking the temperature. I was just about to step in when I heard a faint noise. It sounded like it came from the other side of the wall—Krystal's bedroom. I was about to sprint into Krystal's room when I remembered what I promised her. I would not barge into her room and check on her every time I heard a noise. Krystal had medication for her epilepsy. Yet, she would still have seizures now and then. I would jump to noises coming from her room so much that she made me make her a promise.

After my shower, I walked back to my bedroom. The water was still audible from Krystal's room. I found this odd because she should have been ready to leave in several minutes to catch her bus. After I finished applying my make-up, I knocked on her bedroom door again—still, no response. I went back into my room for a minute or two when I decided to barge into Krystal's room.

As I entered her room, I called out, "Krystal! Krystal!" I rapidly made my way to her bathroom door as I quickly scanned her bedroom. I knocked and shouted out, "Krystal!" The only sound I heard was the running water. I yanked the door open. Right then. At that moment, at that second, my heart sank. I sprinted down the hall, to our roommate James' bedroom and woke his ass up.

James and I bolted back to Krystal's room as I dialed 911. My whole body was shaking. My mind was running 100 miles per hour but in slow motion. I gave the dispatcher my name and half of our address before I accidentally hung up on her. I was a frantic mess! James grabbed my cellphone from my hand and dialed 911 and put it on speaker. The new dispatcher asked us to check if Krystal had a pulse. James replied, "no!" then he yelled to me, "get Justin!" I ran as fast as I could downstairs to our other roommate Justin's bedroom.

A few minutes later, Justin and I were kneeling by James, who had started performing CPR on Krystal. Over the speakerphone, we heard the dispatcher count out, "two, three, four" as James pressed down on Krystal's chest. I noticed James had covered Krystal's unclothed body with a towel while I had fetched Justin. James' told Justin to take over as his arms were getting tired. After, what felt like an eternity, the dispatcher notified us the police were outside our building at the main entrance. I rushed back down the stairs, out the door, and down the halls to the main building entrance.

Now with two paramedics and two police officers on my tail, we zoomed our way through the maze of our apartment building and back upstairs to Krystal's room. The paramedics took over and started performing CPR on Krystal. One of the officers kicked James, Justin, and I out of the room. We went downstairs and waited in the cold living room with the officer that kicked us out as he started to ask us a bunch of questions. After what felt like forever, the two paramedics and the lone officer came downstairs and told us Krystal passed away. And just like that, my sister from another mister was gone. I was heartbroken and angry. Angry at myself… no, furious. I was furious that I did everything wrong that day, and most of all, I did not follow my intuition.

With a vacant bedroom that needed to be filled, my friend Asia and her boyfriend, now husband, Adam, moved into the master bedroom. Shortly after, Asia and my mom talked me into getting an emotional support dog. Because of my pain and loss, I knew I wanted to adopt and not shop for a dog. I knew in my heart shelter dogs may feel sad when abandoned by their human. I felt we could help each other feel love and joy as we grow together.

I started my search at Lucky Puppy, a nonprofit animal shelter. I picked the cutest chihuahua/lab mix ever and named him Henry. He was not more than fifteen pounds. He loved to cuddle and follow me everywhere. He was terrific with me but growled at everyone else, including my roommates. My roommates informed me they did not feel safe, nor did they want to be barked and growled at when they came home. I was heartbroken when the consequence was to return Henry because he was not a good fit for the household. I lost another soul I had grown to love. Down the rabbit hole, I went.

A month later, I ended up getting sick, really sick. I had severe stomach pain, throbbing headaches, and night terrors. My mom flew out to Los Angeles to help take care of me. During that time, we went to look for another dog. We went back to Lucky Puppy. I noticed what I thought was a corgi/chihuahua mix, corgi for sure; he licked my feet while I observed all the other dogs. Since he was so loving and full of kisses, I chose him and named him Chase. We went on walks to the park and cuddled on the couch. The roommates loved him, and he loved them. I started to notice when we went up the stairs to my room; Chase would limp. During the trial period, I made an appointment with the vet. The vet told me Chase had severe arthritis and he would need surgery for another condition. Being strap for cash and unable to pay for his medical bills, I made a difficult decision. With tears streaming from my eyes and down my face, I handed Chase back. Once again, I was heartbroken. Further, down the rabbit hole, I fell.

A few months later, I was sicker than ever, and my symptoms continued. I was in and out of doctor's offices doing test after test. My body was physically shutting down on me. Once again, my mom flew out to take care of me. When she flew back to Oklahoma, I got in a car crash and totaled my car. I was lucky enough to walk away. I did not want my mom to worry even more, so I did not tell her about the accident until the following night.

Later as my body continued to attack itself, I was diagnosed with stomach ulcers and got shingles on the left side of my face. I felt like I had gotten the living shit beaten out of me. I weighed 98 pounds. My mom, sister, and aunt (Tia) drove to Los Angles to help me. I remember it like it was yesterday. My mom looked at me and said, "we are finding you a dog this week."

We decided to check out the Los Angeles Animal Shelter, where I found a honey coat, lab mix. One of the employees brought the lab mix to us. She was about fifty pounds and very energetic. I liked her a lot, but my mom said, "let's look around." At 4:10 pm, my mom and I pulled into the Downey Animal Shelter parking lot. All the dogs were outside in kennels. As we walked around looking at all the dogs, a blue-eyed Huskey caught my eye. I wanted to interact with the blue-eyed pup, so my mom and I got in a long line to talk to one of the employees about meeting the pup.

My mom asked me to wait in line while she went to look at the flier-filled bulletin board off to the left. I glanced over at my mom and noticed an older lady walking up to her. The two of them talked for a while and then said their goodbyes. My mom made her way back to me and divulged what had unfolded. She said she was looking through the dog fliers when the older lady walked up to her. The lady had asked her why she was there. My mom told her while pointing at me that she was helping her daughter find a dog. The lady informed my mom, she worked for a Huskey rescue nearby. Then she said we should visit a nearby animal shelter in Bellflower where they play classical music to help calm the dogs, but they close at 6 pm. My mom and I continued to wait for our turn in line. Finally, we spoke to an employee who informed us that the Huskey I was inquiring about had already been adopted and that no one has had a chance to put an adopted sign up. My mom and I looked at each other and rushed back to the car.

On the road again, my mom and I joked, this would be the place I will find my four-legged companion because it was the city I was born in. With thirty minutes to get to the Bellflower animal shelter before they closed, my mom gassed it.

Somehow and somewhere along the way, we got lost and had to pull into a gas station to turn around. The gas station was near two major freeways. We sat at the gas station's exit for several minutes as traffic was getting backed up, trying to get across the street. I was getting irritated. I looked at the time and noticed we only had ten minutes. I told my mom, "just turn around we will never make it in time." My mom looked at me and said, "Oh, we will make it!" My mom drove like a professional get-a-way driver. I was amazed.

With merely minutes to closing, we pulled into the parking lot. A minivan pulled in right behind us. My mom and I ran into the building as the family of four from the minivan followed us in. The lady at the front desk notified everyone, we could quickly look around, but we could not take any of the dogs out of their cage because they were closing for the day.

We rushed down the hall, past the cat section, which happened to be full of cats. Then, we walked through the swinging doors as the entire group came to a brief stop at the fork in the road. Each of us looked to the door on the left, then to the door on the right. Everyone, including my mom, went left. I was the only one that went right.

It is weird to explain, but it felt like I was being guided to the door on the right. I knew the right door was the door for me; I could feel it in my bones. As I pulled the door open, all the dogs started to bark. I strolled down the aisle, along the wall, scanning all the cages full of smaller to medium-sized dogs—about three in each. At the end of the long walkway, I stood there staring at a golden-tan, brown-eyed, toned, Yoda-eared, Corgi/lab mix. She was sitting still, not barking, just staring at me. I noticed a yellow band around her neck, with several numbers on it. She sat there, never taking her eyes off me, and I never took my eyes off her. There was a slight wag in her tail." The older lady was right -- they do play classical music for the animals! It was phenomenal.

The next thing I knew, my mom was standing beside me. Startled, I jumped, looked at my mom, and then back to the brown-eyed pup, and I said, "She's the one, I want her." We stood there for as long as we could before the front desk lady told us we had to leave. Before we left, I bent down to the pup and said, "I'll see you tomorrow." I caught myself smiling. Which I felt like I had not done much of lately, and it felt good.

The following day, my mom and I left the house early to stop at PetSmart to make a welcome home basket for my new friend, Coachella. Yes, I named her after the music festival and Krystal's favorite place on earth. Once we arrived at the shelter, an employee informed us Coachella would not be going home with us because she needed her vaccination shots. We would have to come back tomorrow, which sucked, but what could I do. She needed her shots. In the meantime, the employee, my mom, Coachella, and I played in their enclosed play area outside and got to know each other a little better. The employee told us what he knew of Coachella's past. He said, "her birthday was August 27, 2014, and that she had not been there long, a few weeks at the most. And, a man in his late thirties dropped her off, stating "she was too hyper, and he could not handle her anymore." When it was time to say our goodbyes once more, I bent down and kissed Coachella on the head and said, "I'll see you tomorrow."

On day three, my mom, brother, sister, and I drove thirty miles in two hours to Bellflower to bring home; my soon-to-be best friend and four-legged baby. We waited in the lobby as a staff member brought Coachella to us using the leash, I had bought for her the previous day. After we said our goodbyes to all the employees that had helped us over the past few days, I moved towards the exit with Coachella's leash in hand. She did not want to go through the doors. My heart sank. I thought she did not want to go with me. I took a deep breath, walked over to her, picked her up, and carried her to the car. On the drive home, I held Coachella in my lap as she trembled. I held her firmly with my left arm as I rubbed behind her ears with my right hand, trying to reinsure her that she was safe.

I arranged an adjustable dog pen with a dog bed and some toys in the Livingroom for her. For the first few nights, while Coachella slept in her new bed, I slept on the couch a few feet away. I did not want her to feel alone. She was apprehensive about eating and drinking out of her dog bowls, so I placed a piece of her food in my open hand and held it out to her. I also dipped my fingers into her water bowl and held out my hand. Each time, she moved to me at a snail's pace to my extended hand. Later it became clear, Coachella is not one to mess with another dog's food or water bowl. Something to do with her past, perhaps. Coachella never had an accident in the apartment, which was a bonus. Over the next few months, Coachella and I learned more about one another.

I soon discovered Coachella is not big on dog toys and hates when I flap out my clothes after drying. She turns into the Flash and is gone in a second. She also dreads the sound of a crumbling bag, and she hates doorways, which I learned earlier at the shelter. She loathes loud noises, i.e., cheering, shouting, and squeaking. But she is okay with fireworks and sirens. I also learned, she loves the beach but fears the water. She loves to roll in the grass, chase squirrels, cuddles, belly rubs, car rides, and "chomp" on French fries.

Before COVID-19, Coachella and I had a morning ritual. Monday through Friday, we would wake up at 4:50 am, and we were out the door by 5 am for our morning hike. I parked at the bottom of the hill, threw on my hiking bag, and grabbed Coachella from the back seat. Then we headed for our favorite trail at Runyon Canyon. The first half of the trial was usually just Coachella and I. It was peaceful, and the air was clean and crisp. Coachella knew when we were about to reach the top of the hill, and she would dash to her favorite spot, a dog fountain. Standing at the top, Coachella and I drank water, hydrating ourselves, as we looked over the cliffs and beyond to the city below as the sun started to show herself. Each sunrise was majestic. The traffic on the trail began to pick up as we headed back down the hill.

After our morning hike, we ate our eggs and bacon; then, I showered. Then it was time for Coachella to practice her tricks. On command, she can sit, lay down, roll-over, play dead, leave-it, and eat with the word "chomp." After, Coachella and I did a quick lap around the block so she could do her business. Before I left for work, I would fill up her Kong dog toy with peanut butter and place it on the ground. I would kiss her on the head and say, "I love you. Be a good girl. I'll see you after work." Coachella would sit and watch me leave before enjoying her peanut butter toy.

Coachella and I are two-peas-in-a-pod. We can chill at home and watch TV, or we can go on an adventure. Our first adventure together was to Big Bear, where we went on a boat. Coachella enjoyed it until we sped up. Then, she tried to hide in a tight cubby spot under the steering wheel. Since then, we have been on multiple adventures. Some by airplane and some by car. Coachella does not mind flying. She enjoys sniffing all the fun scents that travel throughout the airports. She gets many compliments on how well-behaved she is on the plane. One time, we sat by an older gentleman and his wife; by the end of our flight, they told me if I ever needed someone to take Coachella, they would take her. I quietly chuckled and kindly thanked them; then we went on our way.

By far, Coachella's favorite means of transportation is a car. She loves to stick her head out the window and go. So far, we have visited Big Bear, Palm Springs, Las Vegas, Oklahoma, North Carolina, and Florida by car. We have hiked the highest peak in Santa Monica, Sandstones Peak (Mt. Allen), at 3,114 feet. Big or small, we make each experience count. Coachella has shown me that she has my back time after time, and without a doubt, I have hers.

I thank God every day for bringing Coachella into my life. I honestly do not know where I would be without her. When I think back on the emotional rollercoaster of finding my soul furriend, I can only smile and count my blessings. I am in awe of how the universe works. Do not get me wrong; I was heartbroken when Henry and Chase did not work out. At the same time, I am grateful I waited to find my best furriend. I am so happy; I choose to adopt. From the first time I saw Coachella, I knew we had the same temperament, and she was the one because of her quiet calmness, yet adventurous spirit. I encourage others to adopt and not give up in their search on finding the right pet for them. We all deserve a second chance.

My family likes to joke because I was the one that needed emotional support, and they say I am Coachella's emotional support human. Yeees, we are each other's, emotional support team. I believe we all need a support team to get through the surprises of life, and due to COVID and losing my fantastic job, Coachella and I have left Los Angeles. I have no idea what the universe has in store for us, but I can, without a doubt, say our story is not over, we have each other. Look out, world, here we come.

If you would like to join Coachella on our adventures, please feel free to follow us at: https://www.instagram.com/bestfurriendsandco/