A few months back, I hacked out a bit of bloggery detailing a pleasant May afternoon in which we went, family-style, in search of the perfect dog. Of course, we didn’t find her, and at the end of said post I related the conclusion that the Puddinette and I reached over the course of that day. Paraphrasing, it went something like this: we’ve already got more stress around here on a daily basis than Dumbo’s mother crossing a rope bridge; adding a dog seems a little silly.
Our judgment was sound then and it’s still pretty sound now. Except, we’re talking about me here, and to my knowledge, good judgment and I have only been in the same room once, the day I asked the Puddinette to bear with me for the rest of my foolish days. After that, I kicked good judgment to the curb and it’s been on permanent hiatus ever since.
So. Yes, I’m still on the lookout for a dog, the perfect dog.
Because I’m powerful good at pulling the ol’ puppet strings when I want to, I convinced the Puddinette that we should visit the local Petsmart last Saturday. That’s when the various humane societies from far-and-wide bring doggies in need of permanent homes around for introductions. As you can guess, there are precious few sales methods as cunning as putting a cute and cuddly canine in someone’s hands.
We usually don’t find a keeper. This week we did. In fact, I featured her in a haiku.
Still, I wasn’t 100% sure. None of the reasons we’d decided to wait on a pooch before had gone away. We don’t have any kind of fence for our yard, and the way our house sits on the lot makes putting one up about as simple as playing baseball in a full radiation suit. And that’s only one thing; all parts of that good judgment I mentioned before were still there. It’s easy to have romanticized mental pictures of your life with a loving mutt at your side, tags jingling and tail wagging in the breeze. It’s a very different thing when you’re standing in your neighbor Bob’s yard in a bathrobe at 6 AM with a leash in one hand and a conspicuous pooper scooper in the other, waiting for Fido to finish his hunch just as Bob comes wheeling out of the garage with a wave, on his way to make the donuts.
So, a few doubts lingered. As a result, I was supposed to send the doggie adoption lady an email, but put it off. This morning, though, I was determined! The kids have this week done some things exceedingly well that they usual do half-ass, at best, in an effort to demonstrate their ability to take on some pet-based responsibility. It remains to be seen how long their resolve lasts, but the visible effort went a lot further than dubious promises to gobble down some broccoli. Yes, indeed, I was finally ready. Certain. Sold. Prepped to schedule that in-home visit and claim Man’s Best Friend.
But then I sent the email. And got the reply. Someone beat us to her. She was adopted, just today.
I was more disappointed than I’d have imagined. Even more than the kids, I think. But I guess we’ll just consider this a chance to get ourselves a little more prepared. The Great Hunt for The Family Dog continues. Anybody got a Basset Hound that needs a home?
PS: Note to self – procrastination when it comes to the cute and cuddly ends poorly.