Doggish Intentions

There I was, innocently trolling facebook when I happened to notice a post by a friend who is forever putting up heartbreaking pictures of dogs who need rescuing. 

I knew I should have unfriended her the moment she started that, but I failed to do so in time to miss this photo.

He reminded me of the crazy dog who was dragged off to the gas chamber in the movie The Lady and The Tramp. Remember him? 

The facebook story was that this puppy needed a TEMPORARY foster home as he'd worn out his welcome with the dog, cats and chickens he was staying with.

A few days, maybe a week... 

Insert romantic montage of this puppy and my puppy, Wally, paw in paw on the beach at sunset, sharing a candlelit dinner of dirty underpants from our laundry bin, frolicking on our bed while we are trying to sleep...

 
The day approached when we were supposed to send him away. 

I balked. 

Negotiations began. Did we need another dog? NO! Did we need more vet bills while our finances are so precarious? NO! More shedding and dog poop? NO! 

Did I want to squash any chance of ever leaving town again at the same time as my husband? 
Was I looking for added unforeseen but inevitable drama and sorrow? A thousand times NO!

And what about the poor woman who was waiting with open arms? Who had already bought him new dog-toys and chews in eager anticipation of his arrival? 

Can you guess the rest of this story?

*Sigh* 
I'm sure there is a lesson to be learned here, but the real question is: What shall we name him?

xo Amy

Dog-days

Mitchell is away on a freelance assignment for another week so it seemed the perfect time to marshall the team and head for the pound.

My kids and their boyfriend & girlfriend and I wandered the heartbreaking rows of outdoor cages at the Pasadena Humane Society.  Many many soft faced pit bulls,  German shepherds, corgi mixes, and all kinds of unknowable combos, plus one alligator, two chickens, a bunch of bunnies.

Our crowd thinned as members peeled off, each attracted by a different dog.  I could barely meet all the beseeching, or resigned dog eyes as I dragged cage to cage feeling weepy.

And then I saw Wally.

Wally couldn't be less like Sweetie.

Sweetie was our ancient big black lab. Wally is a young, white, curly haired, poodle-ish looking, mid-sized muppet. Sweetie slayed us with her dark eyes. Wally has no discernible eyes.

Wally (who we named in the car on the ride between the pound and frozen yogurt celebration) is not just not Sweetie, he is also...his own Wally self, whoever that is. 

We don't know anything about his political leanings, his taste in music... Will he torment our rabbit and Guinea pig? Does he dig up the garden? Escape and chase cars? Chew up shoes and books? Bark constantly? Growl at guests? Pee in closets? Knock over the garbage and spread it around? Choke on fish bones?

Well, we'll learn these and many otherwise unpredictable and no doubt lovable things about him, starting Tuesday when we bring him home.

Meanwhile, here is one more memorial picture of Sweetie, before the era of our boy Wally begins.

Time do march on, don't it?
xoxo
Amy