Ok… that last post was at the top too long, which caused a complaint or two… Who wants to keep visiting a blog that’s so freaking depressing, eh? (Admit it, you all use feeders now anyway, except the guy who complained.)
Anyways, I’m countering the morbid depressing post by talking about something happy. Two somethings, in fact. They’re short, furry, and have very cold noses. But let me start at the beginning. The lovely and talented Matilda Jane (Remember her? She used to blog, too, before she packed up one night and vanished into thin air.) re-friended me on Facebook, which was auspicious timing as I was looking for some dogs and she knows people who know people who have dogs up for adoption all the time. So I sent her a message saying I was looking for some Labrador-type puppies. (The house just felt too empty, you know?) She responded, rather quickly, that she knew a guy who knew a guy who might happen to have two Labrador-ish dogs, but they weren’t puppies. They were around five years old, and had been adopted as puppies and returned five years later because they didn’t fit in the family’s plan. (Seriously? I’d like to know what their plan was, because that’s pretty fucked up.) I didn’t think too hard about it, really. Five years is pretty far from a puppy, and some of the other people I’d asked said they could probably get me “fresh” puppies in the Spring. But that night I was lying in bed and thinking about those two dogs. Puppies are easy to give away. Five-year old dogs aren’t so easy. Puppies require training, and house-breaking, and furniture to eat… Older dogs have probably gotten that out of the way.
So when Saturday rolled around, I unexpectedly found myself standing next to a row of cages, looking at the two five-year old dogs. I honestly didn’t expect to be there. Well, I did, because I went there to buy bowls and beds and other stuff that dogs would want. But I didn’t expect to stop at the cages and check them out. They were a brother and sister, Split and Ashley. (I’m sure the name ‘Split’ made sense to the people who made it up, but really? And who gives a dog a people-name? Isn’t there a rule about not doing that?) Before I knew it, I was holding two leashes, upon which two collars were attached, which held the necks of Split and Ashley, and I was walking them around the giant pet store. They never pulled at the leashes. They never barked at other dogs. They never refused to go where I wanted to go. The only time they veered off course was at the front of the store, when they expected to be walked back out to the car that brought them there. I didn’t want to jump the gun. I wanted to go home and think it over. Dog ownership is not a light responsibility.
I’d made up my mind by the time I went to sleep that night. I was going to go back next Saturday and adopt them if someone else hadn’t already. Next Saturday rolled around, and there they were, sitting in their little cages waiting on me. After mountains of paperwork and a Buy One, Get One Free deal (They didn’t want to separate them, and neither did I, but I wasn’t going to turn down a discount!) I was trying to fit two dogs and a big cedar dog-bed into the cab of my pickup. An hour later, there were two dogs running around my house, sniffing everything.