It must have been that penny I spied and picked-up in the Target parking lot on Monday.
I still can’t get over how people can bring themselves to drop a faithful old friend off at a shelter (or worse, leave one or two behind at their house when they move) to let them sort out their fate on their own. “Thanks for a few great years, but I’m finished with this scene. Good luck to you, old pal.”
I went in looking for “Grace”—a three-year-old female lab/retriever mix and came out having found “Huck”—a one-year-old male that is part coon-hound. I followed the sage advice of the trainer there and am choosing personality over breed. I was hesitant to adopt a dog that I can’t have off leash, but I’ve been informed that there are training classes for that. Huck is sweet and silly and he hit it off with all of us. All he wants to do is kiss and hug and play. He is smart and social and smells good. I can’t wait to fold him into our mix. We all have visions of walks and hikes and long, cuddly naps.
As they were interviewing me for the adoption, it struck me that it is easier to find out how to raise a dog than a child. You are not quizzed if you’ve ever had a baby before, or encouraged to take a training class if you haven’t. No one at the hospital wanted to know what my plans for discipline were or did reference checks to confirm I wasn’t secretly planning to use my new baby to make money fighting him in the basement.
We are going to go pick up Huck this weekend when I get back to town. Meanwhile, the boys and the Professor have been busy setting up the house, gathering leashes and food bowls. I can already see the decision is a good one. Thinking about our new family member, I am happy to help out the greater good by rescuing a pet, but, really, it's my day that's been made.
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