Vicki and Ani

The vastness of the lonely long road ahead of me, that one teacher that disapproved of my homework and announced it to the class as a lesson of what not to do, and shaky hands did not help my anxiety on my way to the first day of third grade. First day of school in Armenia felt like a whole new challenge, my cold grey desk awaited me as did the same students from last year who did not use to choose me for group activities. My grandmother walked with me every day, everyone in our neighborhood knew each other and I got to see the other neighborhood kids walking to school with similarly anxious face expressions. Just the day before, we had been playing tag, building random structures with sticks and stones, and anything else we would think of on the spot. One of the older kids used to walk me up to my apartment on the fourth floor where my grandmother would stand at the doorway shaking her head because I had yet again disobeyed her order to get home early, and by then it was dark and scary for me to walk up the flight of stairs alone.

We had spent all summer playing outside, but the new school year brought with it chilly wind, somber morning sleepiness and anxiety about homework. I used to love playing with all the homeless animals that were left traipsing along the streets, I was always sneaking out food for them and petting them. My grandmother had tried inculcating into me a penchant for germaphobia, but I could never resist petting the soft or even rough fur of precious dogs that barked and wagged their tail in elation. They did not get much love or respect in the streets, and any attempt at kindness was greatly appreciated.

For the first couple of weeks, I was still struggling with simply approaching people to talk to them and keeping up with all the assignments at school, so my time was best spent playing with the neighborhood kids outside, watching TV dramas with my grandmother at 6pm every weekday, and learning Armenian poetry. It was becoming a bit chillier outside, and the trees looked aflame with newly emerging, bright red and yellow autumn leaves, when I spotted two small homeless crossbreed dogs. One was black and the other one was white and yellow. I was walking to school with my grandmother again, and they began to follow me right after I exited out of our building. We walked, and, slowly, they sauntered behind us. I stopped, and since I was still a bit afraid of dogs or just everything at that time, I felt a bit threatened. They were following me, and I did not know what they wanted. My grandmother tugged at my arm with a sense of urgency like as though being five minutes late to school would yield a catastrophe, so I turned around and got back to staring at the asphalt as we walked, counting the large bricks I stepped on and avoiding the little areas between them. It put my mind at ease to think about something else since I was always so nervous when walking to school. My mouth would get dry, I could not partake in the small talk my grandmother initiated, my hands felt cold and a bit shaky. All I could think about was whether my homework was correct, and if I would be picked on to answer difficult questions that day. Our schools used to follow the Socratic method. That was probably the scariest part.

When we reached the schoolyard, we had waited for about five minutes before the school doors opened and, suddenly, I noticed that the little dogs had navigated to my schoolyard! I was stunned! I walked inside as the school-day began but could not stop thinking about why they picked me to follow. After all, I did not have any food with me. I did not play outside after school that day with the neighborhood kids, so I did not see them again until the next day when my grandmother and I walked to school. They followed me again, slowly, so as not to spook me, they had mastered the art of espionage. I reached the schoolyard and a few of the other girls jumped at the opportunity to pet the dogs and began asking me a plethora of questions about them. Taken aback, I had come to receive too much attention from my classmates but decided to think on the spot, "Oh, that's Vicki and Ani, they have my last name too, so Vicki and Ani Tatevosian." All the kids in the schoolyard had suddenly stopped checking and rechecking their heavy backpacks for things they could have forgotten, obsessing over finishing parts of the homework they had not yet finished, and talking about how mean the first period teacher was. Vicki, Ani, and I were the talk of the town! Vicki and Ani were so loving and friendly. I fell in love with them, I had never met such patient, loving dogs! They were so incredibly loyal, and I was surprised how smart they were, walking me to school on a schedule. I could not believe it, I felt so special and, in turn, tried my best to make them feel at home, even though they weren't allowed inside our apartment.

Autumn turned to winter, winter dragged itself out for too long, and spring weather was emerging, flowers were beginning to bloom, we started spending more time playing outside after school, and Ani and Vicki were still my best friends. I used to sneak out quite a bit of food for them, which annoyed my grandmother sometimes. This went on for a while longer, until one day in April I walked out, and they were not there to greet me. Maybe they had somewhere else to go? maybe they have other friends to visit? I quieted my thoughts and just walked to school alone that day. It was no big deal, they were busy, what could have possibly happened? I walked alone the next day, and the day after that, and for a few weeks after that. Upon arriving to school in May, I was waiting in the schoolyard when I saw the small yellow and white dog, Ani, standing on the edge of the yard where I could barely see her. From what I could see, she had been standing alone and her front left leg had been broken. I could not breathe, my heart felt like it had tried to escape and got stuck in my throat, I had turned into the crybaby I never allowed myself to be in front of my schoolmates. My cheeks burned a fiery red with anger and confusion, and the number of tears racing down my cheeks could have contributed to a new lake by the school. Some of my new friends came up to me to console me, or just see what the commotion was about. I was inconsolable, my heart was broken. I could not even go up to Ani until someone pointed at her and said something. I do not remember anything else, except all the thoughts racing through my mind, like which one of those evil boys in my or the surrounding neighborhoods could have thrown a rock, or what Cruella De Vil decided to go on a driving rampage. My muscles did not hear any commands that rushed through my brain, I could not move. I watched Ani as she watched me from afar, I felt as though she did not want me to see her hurt, and what was worse, I could not see Vicki standing by her. But they are always together! None of it made any sense. I remained frozen like a statue long after the school doors had opened and begun to swallow the usual influx of students, I felt five different emotions surging through me at once, my blood ran hot while my muscles were stuck in the same position. I didn't enter school; it would have meant serious trouble with my teachers and my grandmother, but I didn't care anymore. When I was finally ready to move, I could not see Ani anymore. Weeks passed by and rumors began to spread. Some of the neighborhood kids would run up to me and start gossiping that the boy from the third floor of building number four had thrown a rock at the dog and his friends had laughed, another group of kids approached me with a theory that Ani was hurt during an attempt to capture both Vicki and Ani. They all surmised that Vicki had died in her attempt to escape, and Ani got hurt because of improper handling. My grandmother used to say, "Dogs heal quickly, you know I saw this one dog who lost his leg and then it grew back!", I think she thought I would confuse dogs with starfish. None of these lies worked, I did not believe that dogs could magically heal without a vet. The "mongrel bus" used to drive around endlessly, waiting to capture any homeless animals that were roaming around. That was their way of keeping the streets "clean", cruelty masquerading as community clean-up efforts even though the system was built not to address real issues, instead it served as a band-aid for larger issues. Everywhere I looked, examining closely the droves of homeless people as well as homeless animals sitting in corners, I could not help but imagine seeing those large, loving, vibrant eyes staring back at me. I hoped and I looked out the window every day. I could not forget about them. The gossips and rumors, that were meant to give me some closure, ended up hurting me even more because harsh reality had shown me its true colors and it was hard to look away.

Months felt like years and I had almost given up at the thought of finding them, when my best friend, the older girl who walked with me up the endless flights of stairs in the dark when I stayed out playing too long, suggested visiting a shelter. "Just to see" she urged, but I knew there was no way they could stay alive that long anywhere in a shelter (or at least my impression at the time). The resources seemed scant and homeless dogs rarely got lucky. With a heavy heart, trying to stifle the glimmer of hope that was budding inside me, I followed her to one of the local shelters. Since we were already on a spree, we visited a few more, until the last one. This last one was odd, it was small, but the folks seemed really kind and caring. I was not sure, and clearly without a collar there was no way to know, but I felt that I was looking into Vicki's eyes. The small black dog that had reacted energetically the second I entered was restless inside her cage, moving in my general direction. The girl who was working there sensed this and opened the cage, "Oh, she is a sweet one! We found her a year ago, she must have been attacked because I saw a few bite marks on her, and we sought care quickly enough. Do you want to hold her?"

As she carefully took Vicki out of her cage, I immediately began to ask about Ani, "She is just as small, yellow and white, and just as sweet?" Watching my eyes widen with hope and holding back tears, the girl slowly shook her head and pursed her lips, understanding my desperation to find Vicki's sister. I grabbed Vicki with utter care, almost shaking, and began to kiss her. The girl smiled and offered to help with the transition, but she could not give me Vicki until a parent or guardian was present. I was not going to move; never would I part with Vicki again. My best friend saw my reluctance to comply and went after my grandmother to bring her to sign the required papers. Things were happening lege artis, unlike what I thought would happen. It was the single most magical moment in my life, and I was returned my beautiful, adoring creature. Suddenly, the world did not seem like such a bad place. I never stopped thinking about my Ani, though, and, to this day, I still wonder why she chose to watch me safely from a distance. I still like to think that she healed, or a generous vet decided to take her in and help her. Perhaps I am dreaming.

I have yet to take the wonderful opportunity to adopt from any of the shelters in the United States, though my second year in the US I took in a stray cat who I named Jacqueline Tatevosian. She was exceptional, older and very smart, patient, and independent. The shelters in the US work hard to advocate for their animals and I know that once I decide to adopt, I will look for the same kind and loving eyes. Sometimes, you just click and no matter the breed, size, age, or shape, I think I will always have Ani and Vicki in mind since they were my first best friends. They nurtured my love for dogs as well as made me realize how attentive and nurturing I can be with those I love. Their legacy for me is the cultivation of unwavering kindness for all living beings and the realization that a single act of kindness and attention can make a world of difference to someone.