Last week my husband started sending me photos and links of adoptable dogs. He has been militantly anti-dog even in the face of…well, two cute faces. My girls have been begging for a dog for years. The little one, who is 3, is especially relentless. “Why can’t I have a doggie? I would love her so much, Daddy. It would make me SOOOOO happy.” (The little one has inherited her mother’s guilt gene.)
We used to have a dog. Her name was Sheba. She was my husband’s dog. We got her before we were married, and soon found out she had a wicked case of separation anxiety. We spent thousands of dollars on trainers and windows and doors and couches and carpeting. Oh, and vet bills. She would bite and claw her way out of everything in a desperate need to find us. In the end my husband built a cage on the floor of our garage with completely smooth edges that she couldn’t bite or claw through. By that time she had very few teeth left anyway, but I digress.
Okay, so I’m getting all these photos of sad-eyed dogs, but I’m not taking it all that seriously, even posting the following on my Facebook status: “My husband is sending me photos of adoptable dogs. Hell has frozen over, I guess. Makes sense. Global warming and all…I have to say this one is cute…”
And then the next thing I know last night we are driving over to some God-forsaken area of Oceanside in the dark to “see” a potential adoptee. She looked a lot like our old dog. She was fearful and cute with floppy ears and a long, crooked tail. Night turns into day and all of a sudden we’re picking her up. We are the owners of Savannah, a little 45-pound Black Lab mix who barks at my girls and cowers when anyone makes a loud noise. She’s sleeping in her crate now. (Although she’s about a year old she’s also not housebroken so she needs to be crate trained. Oh, and she doesn’t know how to walk on a leash, either.)
I’m seriously not sure how this all happened so quickly. My girls are over the moon. My husband…well, he mourned our Sheba for a long, long time. He’s a complete and total mush, and is already in love with this little pup. We’ve got her on a two-week trial basis. The rescue that she came from says they like to do a trial before “officially” transferring ownership. Ha, I say. Unless this dog sets the house ablaze with lighter fluid she isn’t going anywhere. I wonder how long it will take until she gets a cat friend…