On a random whim on Sunday, Sal and I decided to go play with dogs in the shelter at Animal Control, with a possibility of rescuing/adopting one if we fell in love with one. (There’s more to the story, but Sal takes great delight in telling the story, so ask him) We conned Adam into going with us, and trekked on over to Animal Control.
We met three different dogs… The first was a little bigger than I’m used to, and a little more rambunctious, but very friendly and affectionate. The second was gorgeous but completely indifferent to us. And the third was just plain dull. At the time, we didn’t have our hearts set on any of them in particular, so we decided not to rush things.
The next day, I found myself thinking of that first dog ALL DAY. So I finally caved in, went in and woke Sal up from his attempt at an after-work nap, and proposed that we go back to Animal Control with a serious mind to pick up a dog.
I’ve never seen Sal get out of bed and dressed so quickly.
So we rush on down to Animal Control, telling ourselves to take it easy and not jump into anything… We agree to look at some other dogs that we hadn’t seen the day before.
Useless. We’d both been stuck on that first dog, and nobody else at the shelter had a CHANCE. Even the housebroken and calm Beagle, which I’d thought sounded like he met my ideal characteristics perfectly, didn’t have half the personality of the big oaf we’d first played with the day before. So we made up our minds — that fella was coming home to live with us.
Problem: he’d been neutered earlier that day, and they don’t allow you to adopt a pet on the day of his/her surgery. So fine, we started filling out the “first dibs” paperwork so I could come back the next morning and pick him up (hooray for government agencies being open on Veteran’s Day!) And then, the bombshell…
Someone else already had a “first dibs” form filled out for him. The way it works is this: if the person that had that form showed up at 11:00am when they opened, he/she got to adopt the dog. If they didn’t, the next person to have a form filled out gets the option — and that was me.
Sal and I both tossed and turned all night, worrying that some evil family was going to take our dog away from us.
Sure enough, when I got to the shelter (at 10:30, but who’s counting?) I discovered FOUR other families waiting for the doors to open at 11:00. I became convinced that I was SCREWED, but I waited around anyway just in case.
I was the second person in the door, and that’s just because I politely held the door open for a young lesbian couple that had a puppy in their arms (and thus was not likely to be my competition.)
And wonder of all wonders, none of the other families that were in line were the culprits! One was trying to find their lost dog, and two others just wanted to browse the kennels to potentially pick one up. I discovered all this as I was eavesdropping while frantically wishing the old lady behind the counter would TYPE FASTER so I could grab the dog before she realized there was a “hold” form in the filing cabinet.
Incredibly, we got it all taken care of… Every time the door opened behind me I cringed and got ready for an indignant display of outrage — I’d been on time, I’d paid my money, it was IN THE COMPUTER that the dog belonged to me, and I’d tell him to bite anyone who tried to take him away.
But they never came. I was out the door as quickly as humanly possible, gave him a chance to pee on the grass, and hurriedly got him in the car. We fled before anyone else could arrive and wonder where their dog was.
Yes, I probably broke some poor lil’ girl’s heart today. I don’t care — next time, she’ll make her daddy show up on time.
Here he is, our little bundle of joy! We named him “Puck” because of his behavior. I’m curious: comment and tell me where you think we got that from!