It’s 1:00 in the afternoon and I’m walking home from the train. I was in the city for a job interview that went longer than expected, making me late for a second job interview by phone at 1:30. It takes 30 minutes to get home, and since the bus is too slow and a taxi is too expensive I’ll just have to walk super-fast like one of those goofy-looking speed-walkers. Missing this interview isn’t an option – it was month seven of a depressing job hunt. I was getting desperate. It was 2013 and while the job market wasn’t terrible, the fact that I was in my late 40’s re-entering tech sales after freelancing for a few years, made things harder. 

Rounding the corner toward Lakeshore Avenue I hear a whimpering sound. Don’t you dare stop, Robin Fletcher – just keep walking. Not halfway down the block, I stop, turn around and go back. 

There, behind a column on the porch of one of those run-down Edwardians near the lake is a shivering puppy peaking his head out from behind. There’s no collar and judging by its eyes, which are crusty and watery, it’s probably been abandoned. But there’s what looks like a water bowl with no water beside him.  

Crap. Now what do I do? I can still make my interview if I leave right this minute. But then, what about the puppy? I could take him with me but if there’s an owner, he’ll wonder what happened to dog. I could knock on the door, but if the owner is stupid enough to leave his dog unattended by this busy street he might resent the fact that I’m telling him what to do with his dog. Damn.

Just then a stranger walks by and, noticing the pup asks, “What a cute puppy, is it ok?” 

“I think it’s been abandoned, but I’m not sure. I was just walking by like you and had to stop.  I’m not sure what to do,” I say. 

“Well someone’s got to do something!” she blurts, shifting from concern to condemnation in an flash.

“I agree, but the problem is that I have a job interview that I have to go to.” Then it occurs to me we could team up, “this may seem weird because you don’t know me but maybe together we can figure out a way to help him.”  

Visibly conflicted she snaps, “It’s not my fault – You’re the one who found it, not me.” And with that, she turns and continues on her way.

I look at the time. My interview starts in 5 minutes. I’ll never make it. And unfortunately I don’t even have their number to call and let them know. So, I guess I’m staying after all. 

I wait for a few more minutes, hoping someone will approach who knows something, anything, about this puppy. But no one does. I gather my courage to knock on the front door – praying that by doing so I don’t unintentionally piss off the person living there.

An old woman still in her nightgown opens the door. “Hi, I’m Robin and I was just walking by when I noticed your puppy here alone on your porch.” 

“It’s not mine,” she snaps. 

“Um, uh, ok, well anyway, I was worried that he could go into the street, so I thought I’d let you know…”  searching her face for some kind of sign that she cares. 

But instead, she looks at me then down at the puppy then back at me and says, “I heard it crying this morning and so I put out some water and a bit of food. I thought it would just go away.” And with that she shrugs her shoulders and shuts the door. 

I guess you’re coming with me, pup. 

A few weeks later after having checked with the local animal shelters to see if anyone was looking for their lost puppy, I had no luck. I thought about adopting him myself but already had Moose, a large Coon Hound. And if you know hounds, they need plenty of exercise. My usual routine of running with him every day turned out to be quite the challenge. Squid, the name I ended up giving the pup because when he snuggled he looked like a little squid, was too small to keep up with Moose, and so I’d end up holding him in one arm, while running Moose with the other. And God help me if a squirrel crossed our path! 

So, I decided to post on social media asking friends if anyone wanted to adopt Squid. A few days go by and there’s no interest. But he’s really grown on me by this time, so I decide to keep him. I’ll just have to find a way to make it work with Moose. That afternoon, I get a call from a friend of a friend interested in seeing Squid. She thinks he could be a potential therapy dog. She works with seniors in hospice and is taking care of an elderly gentleman who desperately wants a dog to keep him company. I look at Squid and realize this is where he is meant to be. 

They come to meet Squid later that day and it’s love at first site. Squid nuzzles up against the old man’s arm, making him brighten with happiness.  

Months later, the person who groomed Squid to be a therapy dog calls to let me know that the elderly gentleman passed away. He was holding squid lovingly in his arm when he died. 

Have you ever found yourself in a different country, by accident? I have. The country was Portugal. 

In August of 2000 I planned a trip to Europe to attend the wedding of some friends. The wedding would be in southeastern France, along the Cote d’Azur in a small village called Canadel. 

August is tourist season, so everything is expensive. Luckily, I was able to get a couple of cheap airline tickets from a former colleague of mine I worked with when I flew for TWA years earlier. Yvonne, my travel companion, and I wanted to spend a few days in Paris before heading by train to Canadel for the wedding. 

My flight-attendant friend, Jose got us the lowest level roundtrip tickets from San Francisco to Paris. This was fine by me because the lower the level, the cheaper the cost, the more money I could spend on clothes and food while in Paris. But Jose warned that these cheap tickets (buddy passes they called them), come with a risk. If flights are overbooked out of NY (our point of transfer), we’d be the first to get bumped. But I wasn’t worried about this – after all, I’d used buddy passes dozens of times before and have never had a problem. Not only that, if worse comes to worse, we could fly to a city near Paris and take a train in. 

I was certain that nothing could go wrong. And so, with full confidence, I spend the money saved by getting cheap tickets on a Paris-worthy shopping spree! Why wait to be in Paris to shop? I planned an outfit for each day, (something I’d never done before!). I even got us a place to stay for free near the famous Champs-Elysees. An ex-boyfriend owed me a favor and convinced his sister who lived in Paris to give us a room during our stay. Everything would be perfect. 

August finally comes and Yvonne and I have a fantastic flight from SFO airport. Not only did we get a free upgrade to business class, but our flight gets into JFK early. On the way to our connecting gate, we stop at one of those over-priced airport shops to stock up on chocolate and magazines. Giggly and excited we head to the gate. I get in line to check-in while Yvonne grabs one of the few empty seats. It’s busier than I thought it would be. 

The line is really long and seems full of frustrated passengers. I look over at a Yvonne and flash a smile with a thumbs up, wanting to reassure her that everything is fine. But, in fact, I’m more trying to reassure myself.  

Finally, I make it to the front of the line. Reaching for my ticket, the gate agent says, “This flight is very full, but I’ll see what can do.” 

Meanwhile the other gate agent is announcing the names of standby passengers who’ve made the cut. My bulletproof optimism shrinks with the announcement of each name. I start to fear the worst. “I’m so sorry Ms. Fletcher,” says the first gate agent, “but I’m afraid there isn’t a single seat left. There are too many standby passengers and you’ve got the lowest priority passes.”

In the periphery, I can see Yvonne looking in my direction but don’t dare look at her until I have boarding passes in hand. “Well, what about a different airport? There’s got to be another flight going into France besides Paris, n’est-pas?” I say, chuckling at my clever use of French. 

“Unfortunately, most flights leaving for Europe for the next day 1/2 are oversold. The only thing I can get you both on is a flight to Portugal – but it’s boarding right now, so you’ve got a minute to decide,” she says with controlled urgency. 

“Yes, we’ll take it, at least it’s on the same continent,” I blurt before realizing the idiocy of that comment. 

Just then Yvonne walks up and asks, “What’s taking so long?”

“It turns out that every flight going to Paris is is full, so we’re going to Portugal instead,” I say with forced enthusiasm. “I’ll explain later, we have sprint if we’re going to make this flight.” 

We make the flight just in time and arrive into Lisbon, Portugal’s capital in the late afternoon of a hot August day. But unfortunately, our bags go to Paris. In the cab ride from the airport neither of us are talking and giggling.

We’re dropped off at a cobble-stoned plaza that looks like it might be the central part of the city. Jetlagged and feeling sorry for ourselves, we randomly choose one of the many streets shooting off from the central plaza. My French Berlitz dictionary is not much help so we end up going with the first proprietor who speaks enough English to tell us the price per night. 

With no luggage to unpack, we settle in quickly and within the hour are sitting on the pension’s peach-colored metal terrace. By this time, I had been stewing in regret for not thinking things through, embarrassment at the fact that this didn’t just impact me but Yvonne also, and anger that things didn’t go as planned. Regret, embarrassment and anger, though unpleasant can sometimes be delicious ingredients but they make for a bitter meal that turn you into a real drag. 

So I wasn’t surprised that while sharing a bottle of local red wine Yvonne stared me straight in the eyes and said, “You need to stop feeling sorry for yourself. Things didn’t go as planned – get over it!” 

I sat there in my stew of negative emotions, knowing she was right but I just couldn’t let it go. I mean what mess I made of things. And not only that, I’ve got no clothes! 

I pour a second glass and the owner comes out with a platter of cheeses and bread. Just then, the sun slips beneath the horizon making the sky a brilliant orange-pink color with shades of purple and blue. Each building reflects the light in glowing but unique hues. And Lisbon comes to life right there before my eyes.

“You might be right Yvonne, life’s too damn short…and who knows what tomorrow will bring anyway. I’ve got a feeling that whether I plan or not, we’re on an adventure.”

To hear what happens next, listen to the podcast I did on this trip: https://soundcloud.com/obind/lisbon