The Day My Heart Wedged Open: A Tbilisi Love Story
It was after dinner on the other side of the world, and I was lying in what must have been my 50th new bed in six months. My wife was cooking us dinner in the kitchen while I rested up for the night shift, when I had a vision. It only lasted for a few seconds, but in that moment, I imagined a dog trotting in from the kitchen, leaping up on the bed and snuggling right up next to me. Maybe it was the time change, or the shift work, or homesickness, but for those brief seconds, the warmth of this beautiful creature was real, and prophetic. After years and years living in a self-absorbed haze, swinging from one craze to placate my restless soul to the next, I felt my heart wedge ever so slightly open. It wouldn’t take long for that vacancy to fill.
In late 2019, my wife and I were nearing the end of a half-year trip around the world, a world still blissfully ignorant of Covid-19. We had spent Thanksgiving in Israel and were hoping to travel to Dubai next, but at that point in history, the United Arab Emirates did not allow flights from Israel to land in its borders. All our layover options backtracked to Eastern Europe, making an otherwise short trip an all-day slog, except for one: Tbilisi, Georgia. Though solidly grounded in Asia, the mountainous country of 3.7 million people had much more in common culturally with Eastern Europe, courtesy of its Soviet occupation, and it held enough intrigue for us to take the road less traveled.
We had had just left one middle eastern desert and were heading to another one next, so the November sweater weather was a shock to the senses, but we quickly realized Tbilisi was a gem. We were decidedly charmed by its rustic, crumbling vibe, made sullener by the season of the sticks. But on our first stroll through the city, it was clear the city of 1.1 million people had roommates, tens of thousands of stray dogs. By the tags on the ears, we could tell there was some organized system to keep track and take basic care of the population, but it was still heart wrenching at best. Nevertheless, just like we had in dozens of cities before, we found ourselves on extremely long walks, admiring the back alleys and tucked away corners of the city, en route to more popular destinations. On our first full morning, we headed to the Bridge of Peace, which crossed the Kura River leading to Rike Park. As we crossed the bridge again on our trip home, we decided to extend our walk along the south banks of the river. My wife and I first noticed the handsome pup following us as we stepped off the bridge and started heading south. I guess he wanted to go for a walk. How cute?
He trailed for us five minutes, then 10, then 15. We were getting ever further from our hotel when we decided to double back, the pup turned right around with us. We passed the Bridge of Peace, the place where he found us, but he kept following us anyway. We grew uneasy, was this normal?
To his credit, he was very cute, and quite clean for a stray dog. If it wasn’t for the yellow tag in his ear, we might have thought he had run away from someone’s home. Likely weighing 50 pounds, he looked like an Australian Shepherd mixed with a German Shepherd with a beautiful black and tan coat, soft ears, and even softer eyes. He probably wasn’t much more than a year old. Grimy as he probably was, I already had a strong desire to give him the biggest hug. But I wasn’t doing any of this of course. We were tourists, strangers in a strange land, but we clearly had made a friend. He followed us as we wound through the streets of Tbilisi back to our apartment, always looking back, sort of hoping he wasn’t there, but also kind of hoping he was.
We were halfway home when we encountered three stray dogs together, who seemed to be in some kind of pack. Our pup was trailing close behind when the three dogs quickly surrounded him and started growling. Tbilisi, the very original name we had given him, was clearly in trouble and showed his teeth in defense as the dogs started closing in on him. The situation was about to get out of hand, so, I jumped in. Was it smart? Heck no, but what was I going to do, let them attack my dog? Hell no. Fortunately, the pack had no interest in fighting with a full-grown human and they scattered off. I gave Tbilisi his first hug. Shockingly, he let me and of course, he followed us the rest of the way home.
We were staying on the 12th floor of an apartment building, just a block off the city’s main drag. My wife went upstairs to grab some food and water while I waited with Tbilisi, who laid his paws in the cutest criss-cross apple sauce I had ever seen. I tried to get him to come into the open vestibule of the building, but he was clearly hesitant, so I sat outside with him as he drank the water and gobbled up the food. We were finally in a quiet safe spot, and we enjoyed each other’s company. It had maybe been an hour but I already cared deeply for this dog. Angels in disguise they truly are. But what were we going to do? After an hour, I needed to use the bathroom and my night shift on the computer was close to starting. I needed to head upstairs. I figured he’d follow me back into the vestibule and upstairs, but he stood firm at the entrance, like he was scared, like he had been trained not to cross inside, so I left him to go upstairs where my wife and I fretted. Can we just leave him there? He was so far from where he found him, and there were clearly packs and social constructs on the streets that we knew nothing about. What were we supposed to do? That entire evening, as I went from Zoom call to Zoom call, all I could think about was Tbilisi.
In between calls my wife and I started talking. My twin brother had adopted a stray dog when he was on vacation in the southern part of Taiwan. More importantly, Ashley had friends who had adopted a stray dog in this very city the year before. Maybe it was possible to adopt Tbilisi, but we had one serious problem, we were homeless. Six months into a round-the-world trip, we were carrying most of our belongings, had no permanent residence and no actual knowledge of where we were going to live when the adventure ended. More urgently, we had purchased plane tickets to Dubai, to the tune of $700 each three days hence, this was meant to be a layover after all.
Ashley messaged her friends. They explained how they navigated the system and soon our crazy idea had legs. To be rational, we said it was almost certain he would be gone in the morning, but if he wasn’t, at a minimum, we’d get him back to Rike Park. To discourage litter, the park had these machines where citizens could insert empty bottles, and the machine would dispense a bowl of food and water for the pups who called the park home. Tbilisi would at least have access to sustenance there.
The next morning, there he was, only a few blocks where we left him. He seemed hesitant at first but soon enough his ears perked up and his tail started to wag, so we took him for a walk back through the city to Rike Park. We didn’t exactly have a plan once we got him there, and even when we went into a coffee shop in the park, he stared at us through the window. Sweetly, my wife went and sat outside on the steps with him, and he slowly fell asleep with his head on her lap. It was such a beautiful moment, but it was also our one chance to escape, so gut wrenchingly, she slid out from under his chin quietly and he laid his head down on a step. We took off. Victory! Or was it? Within minutes we were heartbroken.
“That’s our dog. He picked us!”
“I know, we can’t leave him. We must take him home.”
“But how?”
“This makes no sense, but we must figure it out.”
So, we started making calls. First to Ashley’s friends who had adopted their pup in Georgia, and then to the non-profits in town. Time changes and language barriers did not make this easy work but quickly we started to get some answers. International adoptions did occur, but the dogs needed to be given vaccinated and quarantined at the adoption agency for two months. If we couldn’t make it back to Georgia, we could pay a citizen to fly our pup across the world. “This could work out perfectly”, I said, “We could put Tbilisi into the health quarantine with the agency and continue our travels.” We were slated to head back to the States in a month’s time anyway, for a much-needed break. “Rather than getting back on the road, we could just settle down and make a home for the three of us.” Where? We still didn’t know, but we knew we would need a lot of room for him to run. Several hours later, we had a plan, a few hours left before work, and two days left before our flight to Dubai. It was working out! Holy cow. But we had just left him?! Would he still be there? And if so, would he still be “our dog”? A new kind of fear gripped us. “Had we lost our boy?”
First, we needed new digs. Our current place didn’t allow dogs, so we booked a dog-friendly ground floor flat down the street, hosted by a gracious dog lover, who was committed to helping us. Then, my wife went to a pet store and bought a collar, a leash, some bowls, and some dog food — a makeshift care package. We were ready for Tbilisi. When we make it back to Rike Park, there he was, thrilled to see us. We were growing our family.
We were so excited to get him home, give him a much-deserved bath, a meal, and to snuggle up with him on a warm bed. Fortunately, he willingly followed us home again, but when he approached the door, he stopped dead in his tracks. Just like the night before when he wouldn’t come into the vestibule, like there was an invisible fence, he would not cross the line. Oh my God? Had he ever been inside before? It suddenly occurred to us that he probably hadn’t. My wife then tried to put the collar on him, but he violently refused. I went to try and pick him up and he gnarled his teeth at me. I stopped. Shit.
We had already started to panic when two old ladies who lived down the street walked by. They were walking their dogs, two large boxers, who would not stop barking loudly at Tbilisi. The stress escalated when the two ladies, speaking Georgian, started vigorously complaining to our host about the stray dog making their domesticated dogs uncomfortable. In the chaos, our hopes and dreams melted. How were we going to get him inside for the night, let alone to the adoption agency, to quarantine, and to the plane? He was as full of love as any dog I had ever met, but he had lived his entire life on the streets. It’s all he knew. His life wasn’t leashes and collars and baths and snuggles. His life was on the streets, and it painfully dawned on us, he didn’t want to move home to America with us, he wanted us to move into Rike Park with him.
It was getting late, my workday was about to start, and the barking wouldn’t stop. We had to get him home. It was going to be dark. It was the most excruciating walk of our lives and darkness did fall by the time we got to his park. There we were again, but how were we going to keep him from following us back home? Cue the dog food bowls. We put in my empty water bottle in the machine, and he started to eat the dispensed food. As we slipped away, we both said to each other, “Don’t look back.” We knew we wouldn’t be able to resist if we did. As we crossed the Bridge of Peace for the last time, a busker beautifully played “Can’t Help Falling in Love”. Our hearts ached and the tears started to flow, but we didn’t stop, we couldn’t stop. We cried the whole way home, but we didn’t look back. We couldn’t look back.
The agony of the next 24 hours, and even the next 24 days, was like early adult hood heartbreak, where you don’t know if you’ll be able to catch the next breath. I was overwhelmed by the reservoir of love I had for Tbilisi. Four years later, my eyes water as I write these words. Should we have stayed? Could we have figured it out if we had more time, more patience, more resolve? Would he be cuddled up under my feet, or chasing a squirrel in our backyard? I often think about him and wonder, “Does he still live in Rike Park? Is he happy? Is he still alive?”
While he isn’t with me, he continues to change my life. I was a very self-involved person, the endless chatter in my brain worrying about if I was doing the right thing, thinking the right thoughts, getting the results I hoped for. Tbilisi changed a lot of that. He wedged my heart open. He made me want a family. He told me I was ready. And when two eventually became three, I wished upon a star, that he would know how grateful I was that he stepped into my world, even if just for a day.
