Tuxedo: One Year In

Information about "Tango" at the shelter

 On July 5, 2025, a day after the devastating floods in Central Texas, I came across a social media post from a local shelter appealing to the community to temporarily foster some of the dogs and cats in their care. We wanted to do something, and this seemed to be the one thing we could do. On a whim, we took off to the shelter, and three hours later returned home with a black, white, and grey dog with two different colored eyes, estimated to be about six or seven months old. I chose him because he aggressively licked my eight-year-old's fingers when he slipped his hand into the enclosure (despite me telling him not to), and I just knew, deep in my bones, that this dog would not hurt my kids.

Our home, which had lost a lot of its cheer through the many hits 2024 flung at us — the worst being the loss of Sherlock — suddenly woke up to peals of laughter and shrieks of joy, and at times also ick, thanks to the puppy's slobber, doled out liberally through violent licks.

His first photo in our backyard

On July 9, the shelter had scheduled him to come in for his neuter surgery. I arranged for an e-collar for after, and picked up a new bag of food since we were running low on what came home with him. The kids and I reached the clinic and were told, rather gleefully, by the person checking him in, that there was no need to come back to pick him up — he'd be put on a truck immediately after surgery and taken to another shelter in a different city.

Eh... what?

"Do you want to adopt him? If you adopt him, he won't be sent to the other shelter."

We had not bargained for that. I genuinely thought we'd have him for a couple of weeks, or until another family expressed interest — that we'd have time to prepare ourselves.

Instant streams of tears and wails from the kids. My eyes welled up too. I called my husband — the practical one in this family (I never really grew up fully) — and told him. He was shocked as well. "Do you want to adopt him?" he asked.

"We can't send him off on a truck right after surgery, can we?"

He couldn't do that either. "Do you love him?" he asked.

"I like him," I said. "He's sweet." And then, to comfort his own fears as much as mine: "Well, we could always rehome him ourselves." 

Back home post surgery, officially ours

And that was that. I signed some papers, and eight hours later, when we picked him up, he was ours. He came with the name Tango from the shelter. We didn't love it. My brother-in-law suggested Tuxedo, for his black coat and white chest and belly. So he became Tuxedo.

Tuxedo — this black Great Dane–Blue Heeler mix (that's our best guess; we don't know for sure) — was an unlikely choice for me. I usually gravitate toward retrievers and German Shepherds. I like Great Pyrenees too. If you'd asked me, I would have said I go for dogs with lighter coats. But clearly, he was the one.

Life with Tuxedo began. My younger daughter, who was only four when Sherlock passed, hadn't really formed a deep bond with him — she'd pet him only when we coaxed her to. With Tuxedo, though, you could always find her right next to him, her entire hand in his mouth, him diligently suckling on her fingers. He did the same to my son.

My expectations of Tuxedo were low — mostly just don't bite my kids. What can I say? There was never really a question of that. It was his interactions with them that made me fall hard for him. He has been their ultimate fanboy — always sticking close, always wanting to be near them, to the point that I've felt a little envious. I wanted that same adulation for myself.

He's a weird little one. One blue-gray eye, one brown, which makes him look like either a very alert guard dog or an affectionate loverboy, depending on which side you're looking at. Head-on, he just looks wary and suspicious — head bowed slightly, staring at you from several feet away with profound concern and worry. Since he came into our lives, we've lost count of how many times we've said, "Gosh, you are so weird!" or "किती विचित्र कुत्रा आहे."

He's big — 72 pounds — with a loud bark. So when we get unwanted solicitors at the door, I hold him back by the collar while he barks, and, quite predictably, they're afraid. Little do they know the most they need to worry about is his slobber. Still, I'm glad he looks scary. And I'm glad he's a little delusional about wanting to protect me — because if he sensed real fear in me, I know he'd go after whoever caused it. The same was true of Sherlock, who was a वसुधैव कुटुम्बकम् (the whole world is my family) kind of dog.

For a while, I thought I was betraying Sherlock by bringing home another dog. 

Sherlock. My gorgeous 'fur'st baby 💛💛

Grief is complicated. I went through a phase of entertaining thoughts of reincarnation. Sherlock died in August 2024. This boy was seven or eight months old in July 2025, which would put his birth around October — and a dog's pregnancy is about nine weeks. So it was possible, I told myself, that Sherlock's soul had slipped out and found its way into this odd little puppy, who then found his way back to us. It seemed even more plausible given how unlikely a choice a black Great Dane mix was for me. Believing it made it easier to love Tuxedo — I could tell myself I was still just loving Sherlock.

I don't think about it that way anymore, though. He's far too weird for that. Endearingly weird, but weird all the same.

What I've come to realize is this: esoteric ideas about reincarnation aside, loving Tuxedo is the same as loving Sherlock — because all dogs are love, personified. That's all they give us, and all they ask in return. They all come from the same source.

Tuxedo - at home 💛💛

Today marks a year since Tuxedo became part of our family. There's something different about loving a dog whose birth story, and the story of his first few months, we know nothing about. And maybe that's exactly why it feels so overwhelming to watch him grow to trust us, and to be loved by him so wholly. He'd spent only two days in our house before he first sprawled himself belly-up on our sofa. He's been home ever since.