Honolulu Stories: Pet Mama
In a place I never planned to land, through a dog I got as a bribe, I became essential.
The Worst Tap Dancer in Honolulu by Timothy Dyke | The Joy of Aging by Stephanie Han
Belonging by Deborah Harada | Live a Little by Thomas Ianucci | Pet Mama by Sujatha Raman
In a place I never planned to land, through a dog I got as a bribe, I became essential.
Six-year-old Charlie lobbied with the relentless persistence of a union organizer. “I really need a dog!!”
They already had Jojo at their mum’s place in Queens.
“I need one in Brooklyn too, at Dad’s place.”
“It’s mine and Dad’s place,” I corrected. Silence. I let it go.
To my surprise, my husband, Ronan, held firm against the dog campaign. He was usually putty in my stepchild Charlie’s hands, their closeness a state I bordered but could not enter.
It was my year of auditioning for Charlie’s love: lavish toys and trinkets, Mummy and Me manipedis, and Disney movies on repeat. I’d literally stood on my head doing yoga poses, performing like a circus animal. All for naught. Charlie wasn’t liking any of it, demanding Dad make spaghetti or mac and cheese, Dad give baths and read bedtime stories. So I made my move. The next weekend, we took a trip to the Animal League and came home with a 27-pound trembling puggle with enormous, melting eyes. Charlie was ecstatic, then turned to Ronan and said, “Thanks, Dad. I
love you.”
Instead of bonding with Charlie, I became the dog walker.
On weekends, the puppy and I logged miles while Charlie and Ronan hung out in his studio listening to music and playing video games. At the dog park, Sonnet would bound off to tumble with her crew, while I got to know the neighbors. When Ronan was busy teaching private lessons in the evenings, Sonnet and I snuggled on the couch. She was fun-loving, easily trained, and she cracked open something inside me. I felt so much joy and wondered how I had ever managed without a dog.
I spent two years trying to win Charlie over. Living with a child’s jealousy and steady dislike is its own particular suffering—you can’t reason with it, outlast it, and can only absorb it day after day. Sonnet’s constant, uncomplicated love was a balm.
One morning as I was about to walk out of my front door, my sister called. A stroke a few years ago had left Mum incapacitated and in constant pain. After the call, I sat in shock. Sonnet looked at me, walked over and put her head on my lap. Holding onto her soft, warm body, I whispered, “My mother is dead.”
Once again, Sonnet was the perfect bridge to connect to my new neighbors.
Then Ronan landed a wonderful job as superintendent of schools—in Hawai‘i! My brother had lived there, and we had visited often enough to feel the pull of the Islands. Yes, it was an amazing opportunity, and after three failed cycles of IVF, it offered us badly needed forward movement. Charlie would live with their mum and spend the summers with us. Perhaps geography could shift the family dynamic.
Once again, Sonnet was the perfect bridge to connect to my new neighbors. While Ronan disappeared into his job with its numerous evening obligations, Sonnet and I explored our new world. We’d rise early and go to Lanikai Beach, where she’d race gleefully off leash, across the sand. I’d throw her ball into the water, and she’d plunge in, fearlessly. One day, out of nowhere, a golden retriever and a black lab joined her. Within minutes, she’d formed a pack—no anxiety about leaving her Brooklyn homies behind. Their owners and I stood chatting, calling out to our dogs. I quickly became one of the morning regulars.
The pet-sitting business started by accident. A beach friend asked if I could mind her dog while they were away. Then another. Within months, I had a roster. Soon, our home was dog central, neighbors dropping off or picking up their dogs. I became fluent with their quirks and rhythms, as well as the grammar of each household. In doorways during handoffs, over text updates, I assembled a community while being paid to do what I loved. In a place I never planned to land, through a dog I got as a bribe, I became essential. It’s a quiet miracle, being exactly where you’re supposed to be, with whom you’re supposed to be with.
Sujatha Raman is a writer and co-organizer of MIA, Mixing Innovative Arts, Honolulu, one of the city’s longest-standing reading series for Hawai‘i writers. She has published short stories in Singapore, where she grew up, in an anthology in Brooklyn, where she lived for 20 years, and recently in Bamboo Ridge.
