The old saying goes, “You can’t pick your family, but you can pick your friends” — or “your nose,” depending perhaps upon one’s age when summoning up old sayings. But I’ve discovered that it is sometimes possible to do both. The newest member of my family is also a great friend with a highly sensitive nose. I think Zora and I were made for each other. She was three days away from being euthanized when I stumbled upon her mug-shot, as I call it, taken while she was in the custody of Animal Control. It is a grainy black-and-white photo of a tiny, undernourished six-month-old Shiba-Inu/German Shephard mix with a look of bewilderment, uncertainty, and just a hint of public menace.

Living with Zora — named after author Zora Neale Hurston, not, as is too frequently suggested at the dog park, Zora from Joe Millionaire — is like attending a wedding every day: sure there’s a whole lot of love, but the deceptive serenity is seething with the ever-present anticipation of an energetic celebration to come. Like her namesake, Zora has a zest for life and a very clear sense of what she wants. She wants to eat — she has zoomed from a seventeen-pound stray to a thirty-pound, overweight eating machine. She wants to play — at 3am, 3pm, and every hour in between. She wants to chew shoes, pens, bottle tops, corks, cardboard boxes, and me. But most of all, she wants to be, and is, my best friend in the world. So when she didn’t feel like eating this week — and when these input issues were followed by messy output issues — I began to worry. Later when she didn’t want to play at all, I became distraught. I immediately made an appointment with The Humane Society of New York at 309 East 59th Street. The quality of care is excellent and the prices are the most reasonable I’ve encountered anywhere in the city.

On our first visit to the Humane Society for a routine check-up several months ago, I was immediately impressed by the attention that everyone on the staff gave to each and every furry patient and their harried and often equally wooly owner. From the lady who arrived in the limo with her exotic show-cat to the homeless man who had recently reclaimed his ailing dog from Animal Control, each pet was treated with genuine care. As a first time dog owner, I had many questions and concerns. Now a seasoned dog-owner (it’s been three months), I realize just how silly many of those questions were. (“Doctor, I heard that dogs have a good sense of smell, but Zora just doesn’t seem to understand that she rolls around in some really foul smelling things. I mean, dead things, poo, even brussel sprouts. Should I be concerned?”) Zora rolled her eyes a few times, but Dr. Schwartz was always professional and courteous. The doctors, staff, and volunteers at the Humane Society understand that these are not just pets, they’re buds — companions — and for some of us, the only unconditional love we have in the world.

As Zora and I sat in the newly painted waiting room earlier this week, several people came into the Humane Society looking to adopt a cat or dog. The Humane Society does not allow same-day adoptions. Potential owners are required to submit an application, which is then carefully screened to make sure the dogs and cats find a home that can adequately care for the pet’s emotional, mental, and physical needs. According to its web site, the Humane Society hospital and adoption center help over 30,000 cats and dogs annually. Those who love animals but are unable to adopt are encouraged to donate to the “Rescued Pet Wellness Package.” A $250 donation contributes to the care of a stray cat or dog and helps prepare her or him for adoption. The donation pays for a veterinary examination, neutering or spaying (but, I was surprised to learn, never neutering and spaying), inoculations, and other necessary medical examinations. There are many ways to help abandoned and abused animals and The Humane Society of New York is active not only in veterinary care and adoptions but also in fundraising and education. All this from an organization established in 1904 to protect the city’s horses from mistreatment.

In the Humane Society waiting room, Zora nuzzled my doggie backpack to get at the treats she knows I stow there. I am not above giving bribes for good behavior. Or looking cute. Or sloppy dog kisses. Sometimes I feel like we’re in a psychological experiment where, if Zora pushes the right lever, she gets a treat. The problem is that there really are no wrong levers. As Zora gobbled the last of her treat, we were called in to see the doctor. There, I expressed concern that she wasn’t eating, but not only did the empty bag of treats make a liar of me but so did the scale: Zora had gained six pounds. since our previous visit. The vet looked at me quizzically. “Well, she hasn’t been eating her dog food,” I said. “I switched brands and she seemed to like the new one, but….” When I told him about her bathroom issues, he wanted to know what she’d been eating for the past few days. Thoughts of the bacon, egg and cheese croissant she had for breakfast yesterday crossed my mind, as did the corn chips she loves. Hmm, I thought, maybe she has been eating, just not dog food. I have to keep the special treats in check, I reminded myself. As for the rest of her examination, much to my relief, everything turned out just fine. A diet of bland food was prescribed. The doctor looked at me pointedly, emphasizing bland. He could see that I was thinking, “Bland? What would Zora Neale Hurston think of that?” Then Zora and I were on our way.