"Lorraine, we need to get another dog."
I stopped for a moment and looked over. Was this my husband? My very sensible practical husband who does nothing close to impulsive? I examined him for a moment to make sure some alien clone had not taken over his body and yes, it seems that it was in fact my husband.
"Tug is all alone during the day now. He needs a friend."
I'm fairly certain that I had been begging for another dog since I started taking in random strays when we first got married. But now he was coming to ME with this request. He wanted a second dog. Another small one. Maybe a rescue dog who was calm, a little older than a puppy and already house trained. Well that sounds wonderful. Where can we special order one of those?? Last I heard the shelter was the puppy home for wayward souls, but I'd be more than happy to try.
So we take a trip to the local Humane Society. We are just dog browsing at this point. A family trip to Cape Cod in a few weeks causes us to question getting a dog before we get back. We are taking Tug with us to Cape Cod, but new mystery dog may not be ready for a frolic on the beach. New mystery dog may not be as well trained as Tug. We go into the shelter as if we are walking onto a used car lot. Don't give into high pressure. We're just LOOKING! We're not ready to take ANYTHING home. More or less we just want to get an idea of what kinds of dogs frequent the local shelter.
Of course almost instantly we have a friendly older volunteer walk up to us asking what it was we're looking for. We give me our order. He pauses and more or less says we won't find anything like that here. I peruse the cages. Pitbull. Staffie. Shepherd mix. Pitubull. Staffie. Sherpherd mix. A Greater Pyrennes, which in another life I would LOVE to have. But essentially we need something small to medium. A few more volunteers come up to us.
They ask if we could at least take a dog on a walk (since we are clearly worthless bastards who won't adopt a dog today). We feel bad. Very bad. So we take "Paul" on a walk. "Paul" is a pitbull who they tell us is the "good boy" out of the bunch. "Paul" drags us halfway down the block attempting to chase after every car, eat every piece of garbage, and take a chunk out of Chris's face. Since they said "Paul" was the good boy, we are questioning the caliber of dog we will find here. Now granted, I am ALL FOR adopting a dog. There is no reason not to. But until we can find that very special someone, I don't intend to take home any "Pauls" any time soon.
Wish us luck!!
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