A few months ago, I went somewhere I should never be allowed to go—the local animal shelter. I blame social media, as I do for so many other poor decisions in my life. Scrolling through the news feed, there she was; sweet little floppy eared Bernadette with that Sarah McLachlan ASPCA commercial look.
I decided I would just browse; no promises, no commitments (I also had my eye on a cute little miniature mutt from the city named Donald Dotterson and planned to visit him next). I went alone to avoid the perpetual kid gimme syndrome.
Next thing I know, I’m on the floor of the visiting room not only filling out the paperwork for Bernadette, but also playing with her brother Raj. The rest is all a blur. I vaguely recall asking if it would be a problem that I have an unfenced yard. Apparently not since I assured them I would be perfectly happy walking TWO wild beagle puppies in freezing temperatures several times a day.
Once approved, I was adoptive pet mother in overload mode. Pet gates, matching beds, toys, treats and a laundry room redesign plan that would be fashionable, yet functional for my new babies. I had a vision. The puppies running through a field of wildflowers, playfully chasing my children until I drowned in a bucket of cuteness. Delightful paw prints and kitschy dog quotes stenciled on the wall. Loyal, constant companions who can’t talk and only require dry food from a bag. Continue reading