It was a Friday night. Spring break started on Monday, and my daughter Aspen, age 7 (two months shy of 8), asked if I wanted to watch a movie with her. Naturally, she chose Rescued by Ruby. Why? Because it has an adorable dog. When you’re 7, picking a movie because it has an adorable dog is a valid reason. And, well... to be fair, when you’re an adult, it’s valid, too. But I will confess I’m not exactly a dog lover.
Don’t get me wrong — I don’t hate them. Even the Grinch had a dog (and to be honest, the often under-discussed theme with the Grinch is that you can live in a cave, forgo pants, eat broken glass, hate Christmas and treat everyone like garbage, and your dog will still love you). Yes, we have a dog. His name is Pikachu. Looking at his short legs, small stout body, brown fur and ratlike ears, I’m pretty sure he’s a Chiweenie: a cross between a Chihuahua and a dachshund. But, like Ruby, he was a rescue dog we picked up from the pound, so I’m not 100% sure what he is.
One thing I can say with confidence, however, is that my kids, particularly Aspen, absolutely adore that dog. I often come home from work to find Aspen walking around the house, cradling him in her arms like a baby, sometimes even swaddling him in a blanket, all the while making kissy faces with him — something I’d never considered doing with a dog, but after seeing my youngest daughter do it, I can’t help but find it adorable. Her older sister used to do the same thing, and it’s really only been by watching my children’s absolute love for Pikachu that I’ve ended up falling ever so slightly in love with him myself.
There’s something truly special about the relationship my daughters have with Pikachu, and now that we’ve had him a few years, I end up sitting with my girls and watching a lot of movies where dogs are the protagonist, just like I was doing that Friday night with Aspen and Rescued by Ruby.
I will admit, Ruby is an adorable dog who gives off a very noble Lassie vibe. She’s an Australian shepherd and border collie mix. She’s also mischievous — so much so that she’s been returned to the pound a number of times, and the only person who believes in Ruby early on is Pat, the kind and humorous animal shelter employee. That is, until Ruby is picked up at the pound by Dan, a state trooper who dreams of being in the K-9 unit, and it was at that point in the film that Aspen recalled the day we picked up our dog at the pound, her eyes glowing with a level of emotional complexity I’d never seen from her before.
Dan tries out for the K-9 unit and doesn’t make it, but he ends up investing more in Ruby rather than taking her back to the shelter. Aspen mentioned in her bright, bubbly, 7-year-old chirp all the times we’d worked with Pikachu on everything from controlling his bark, to learning to sit to potty training (only one of which Pikachu was successful at — he no longer pees in the house, which I am grateful for!). As we watched Ruby reach her full K-9 unit potential, Aspen snuggled more and more into my side, our dog in her lap, petting Pikachu absentmindedly, the narrative playing out on the TV recognizable to her.
As I watched her soft face process this movie, her beloved dog in her lap, I realized there was something deeper going on. There was a level of connection I’d yet to see from my young daughter, some emotional maturity bubbling to the surface as her mind drew connections between the dog she loves so dearly and the very mischievous but full of potential Ruby. I have two older children, and I noticed that something similar happened with them around this age. Right before 8 years old, there was a transition from a carefree child to someone slightly more thoughtful and mature, and that transition was on full display as Aspen and I watched Rescued by Ruby.
She clapped a little when Ruby and Dan are finally accepted into the K-9 unit, and when Ruby goes missing, Aspen gripped my shirt and said, “Dad... are they going to find her?” Like any good father, I pulled her closer to my side and told her, “Everything’s going to be just fine, sweet pea. They will find Ruby.” Though I didn’t know if things would be fine, like Aspen, I was hoping for it.
By the end of the movie, there’s this moment where Ruby is searching for a lost boy in the woods. Aspen got really scared and climbed into my lap, and we had one of those good father-daughter snuggles that really only happens during a tense on-screen moment. Her lips tight, jaw clenched, blue-green eyes open wide, she took in the emotions of this film: the fear of searching the woods, the excitement of finding and saving the boy, and finally the kicker, when it’s revealed that the boy’s mother happens to be Pat, the woman who works at the shelter and fought so hard to get Ruby adopted.
Aspen was still in my lap, our dog in her lap, all of it a pile of dad, daughter and dog. I watched this scene while glancing at my daughter. Her eyes were wet. I asked if she was okay, and she didn’t say a word. Instead, she turned and snuggled into me, her face in my chest, her nose sniffling.
There wasn’t quite enough room for Pikachu anymore, so he scampered off into the living room. The credits rolled and I held my daughter. I kissed her head and, well... I couldn’t help but get a little misty myself. Not necessarily because of the movie, but rather because of the moment I was sharing with Aspen. I held her, and she squeezed me back. Both of us connected without saying a word, both of us learning to understand her new complex, emotional landscape. And once the credits were finished, I asked Aspen if she wanted to take Pikachu for a walk. She tugged her face into a smile, wiped her nose with her sleeve and nodded.
