THE MAGIC IN TURNING LEFT

How Batman Became Snuffles

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WRITTEN BY: Nancy Gallimore, CPDT PHOTO BY: Snoots Pet Photography

First, there is something you should know about me. I firmly believe in magic. If there is something I don’t understand—
how computers work, for example—I am 100 percent happy to accept “it’s magic” as the answer.

Second, you need to know that I am a creature of habit. I have certain ways of doing things. I have a certain order for getting ready in the morning. I have certain routes I like to drive to and from work. I think routine allows my brain to focus on other vital stuff, like things I consider magical, for example.

Now that you are prepped, I can tell you the story of Snuffles. He’s a Boston Terrier I found as a stray in October of 2007. Oh, and it was pure magic.

I remember the event clearly. I was leaving work at the end of a busy day. It was dusk, and rush-hour traffic was in full stop-andstart chaos. I was sitting at a red light, waiting for my very routine right turn. I always turned right to head home.

But for some reason on Oct. 30, 2007, I decided to turn left. I never turned left. But you know, the left turn arrow beckoned, and magic happened.

Just as I started pulling into the intersection, I saw a little black bullet shooting from the neighborhood across from me. It was just a dark blur, barely visible in the waning light. I honestly wasn’t even sure if it was a dog, a cat or a skunk.

The panicked little critter shot the same direction as I was uncharacteristically heading. He was racing precariously on the narrow curb of a very busy, major avenue where most commuters weren’t aware of tiny black animals that might dart straight into traffic. I decided my best move was to get ahead of the hopefully-not-a-skunk to see if I could convince him to make a move toward safety.

I pulled into a parking lot and hopped out just as the black blur reached the same spot. By now I could see it was a small, terrified dog. He stopped in his tracks when he saw me and did a cartoon-like double take between me and the rush-hour traffic. I stayed about 15 feet away, coaxing and pleading with him to turn toward me instead of darting toward certain tragedy in the road.

After a pause that seemed ridiculously long, the little dog ran straight into my arms. I gratefully scooped him up and hopped back in my car to assess my new friend.

The dog was, in fact, a purebred Boston Terrier puppy. He was around 6 or 7 months old, and he was happy as heck to be in my lap in my warm car. He had big, round eyes that met mine with undeniable “what now” expectation. His ears were perfect triangles coming to sharp, alert points atop his perfectly round, black head. I immediately named my Halloween eve find Batman.

Because this happened in 2007, we were a couple of years shy of being able to hop on social media to post to various lost and found groups. I took Batman home, and on Halloween day, I checked lost and found listings in the newspaper and proceeded to call different agencies and vet hospitals to make them aware of my find. But, beyond notifying places like the city animal shelter, the SPCA and area veterinarians, I kept my find to myself. Purebred dogs are an easy target, and I didn’t want a parade of people trying to claim Batman as their own. I would do my due diligence with notifications and lost and found listings to see if I could find Batman’s rightful owners. Then, after an appropriate period, if no owner surfaced, I would find him a wonderful new home.

And this is the point where more magic kicked in.

After about five days, I received a call at Pooches, my dog care facility. “I understand you have a Boston Terrier for adoption,” said the pleasant female voice. I was admittedly a bit speechless for a heartbeat. Then, I stammered that I had found a Boston, but he was not yet available for adoption. I explained that I wanted to give his owners a chance to surface. Next, I asked how she knew I had the pup in the first place. After all, I hadn’t yet advertised him for placement.

The woman introduced herself as Cindy Leonard and explained that she had stopped in a local pet supply store where an employee named Steve told her I had found the dog. Steve had told her to contact me through my business because I was trying to find the dog a new home. She went on to explain that she had recently lost an elderly, beloved Boston and hoped to adopt another.

Wait. Back up. “Steve?” I asked. “How did Steve know I had found a Boston Terrier?” I hadn’t told anyone that Batman was available for adoption, and I didn’t even frequent the animal supply store that employed Steve.
Cindy was just as confused as I was, but we exchanged contact information and agreed that after I was sure there were no frantic owners searching for Batman, we would talk about the possibility of her adopting him.

After another week passed with no grateful owners popping up to claim him, Cindy and I met and agreed that the little Boston puppy was meant to be hers. And as far as we can
tell even to this day, this was a match made by magic.

You see, Cindy went back to the animal supply store to find Steve and thank him for his role as matchmaker. You know what? She couldn’t find him. And when she asked another store employee about the young man named Steve, they had never heard of him. There was no Steve employed at that store. And no one named Steve had been working there right after Halloween.

So how do we explain it? How did Cindy find her way to me and to Batman, who would become her boy Snuffles? The answer is an easy one for me.

It’s magic.

I turned left instead of right. Cindy met Steve who, apparently, didn’t actually exist. Cindy learned about a stray Boston Terrier for adoption before the stray was available for adoption. And Batman/Snuffles found his way into a perfect, loving home. Now, 12 years later, I still get to see Cindy and Snuffles just about every weekday when he comes to hang out with me for dog daycare. Snuffles’ round face is a bit thinner, and that shiny black fur is salted with some distinguished silver. Those perfectly pointed ears still stand sharp at attention though they may not hear as well as they used to.

Snuffles—who still gets serenaded with the “da-da da-da da-da da-da, Batman” theme song—is an old guy now and is facing some recently diagnosed health challenges. Frankly, his veterinarian thought he saw an expiration date in Snuffles’ immediate future. But that was several months ago, and Snuffles seems pretty determined to keep marching right along, happy, always ready for a tasty treat and ever loyal to his special human.

Which leads me to believe that perhaps the magic wasn’t the events surrounding the little black dog. Maybe Snuffles was and still is the magic. And you know what? I think Snuffles has magic to share for some good time to come. I also think we’ll still feel his magic long past his physical time with us. Magic lives on—you just have to believe—and sometimes you need to be willing to turn left instead of right.

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