At the kiddie park today, I thought I heard someone call their child, "Marzipan." What an unusual name, I thought (not that Berkeley has any shortage of children with unusual names -- I've met a Cedar and a Sage in recent weeks). The only Marzipan I've ever known was the dog from the animal shelter where I used to work. I turned and caught sight of a German Shepherd chasing after a tennis ball in the park. I couldn't help noticing the resemblance between this dog and the dog I once knew. The sad, sick dog I held in my arms, trying to comfort and reassure her, unsure of whether or not she'd make it. The purple collar even seemed familiar. Was Marzipan wearing a purple collar when she left that evening? When she went home with her new family? Just as I thought, There's no way. That can't be her, I saw the girl who was tossing the ball shout, "Marzipan! Come here, girl!" as the Shepherd bounded across the grass, into her welcoming arms.

My heart raced! I had to say hi! I scooped Vic up and walked over to where they were playing. "Excuse me!" I shouted from a distance. "Is your dog Marzipan? From the ______ Animal Shelter?"

"Yes!" the girl said, smiling.

"Oh my god! I was there when she got adopted! Can we come say hi?" I asked.

"Wow! Yes, definitely! She loves everyone. She's great with kids!" the girl said.

I couldn't believe it. Marzipan. Right in front of me. Being able to run my fingers through her fur once more. New fur. Soft fur. Nothing like the patches of bristly, oily fur that once covered her body. A real, full, beautiful coat. She let Vic gently touch her face and pet her and she leaned in close to sniff his cheek, making him giggle like crazy. Making the rest of us giggle, too. I kissed her head, her nose. I hugged her.

I thanked them and told them to take care and they wished me the same. As I walked back over to the park to get the stroller and head home, I thought I might burst. I was this close to exploding in a mess of happy tears. I had to talk to someone! I looked around for someone to gush to. But no one would understand. Who would understand? Bobbi. Who else? After all, she was there that night, too.

In a heartbeat, I was on my cell, feeling elated to hear Bobbi answer instead of her voicemail. "Guess who I'm watching play in the park right now?" I asked. She couldn't believe it. We went on and on about Marzipan and how wonderful it is that she's so happy. Of course, we also talked about Loki a bit (he's doing great), and then she asked me to kiss Marzipan for her, if I could.

Mars had paused in her play with a Pug and a Yorkie, so I pushed the stroller on over and asked if I could give her one last good-bye kiss. The girl and her brother said, "Of course!"

They were so sweet to let me fawn over their dog like a crazy person. They probably thought it was cute. But I didn't know how to explain to them -- at least, not without crying -- all that I was feeling. I didn't know how to explain that whenever we spoke about Marzipan at the shelter, it was in sad, hushed tones. We worried about her health. Worried if she'd survive. Worried that no one would take her home looking and feeling so sick and pitiful. Worried that no one would look past all that to see the beauty inside her, to love her, to take care of her and help her heal, to give her a happy home and a safe, comforting life.

And then we didn't have to worry anymore. This family came by and saw her soul shining out behind those dark, beautiful eyes, and they took her home. And loved her. And love her still.

So since I didn't know how to say any of that, to ever let them know how grateful I am that there are people in the world who love animals enough to give them a chance when no one else will, I didn't say much at all. I just leaned in and kissed their dog. I hugged Marzipan in my arms one last time and said, "You continue enjoying the wonderful life you have!"

And I walked Vic back home, smiling from ear to ear.