Somehow, we thought we could go to the pound in South Central LA and come home without a dog. We promised each other we would walk away if none of them were right for us. As we left the house at 8 am, Rob even said, "I am totally prepared to leave the shelter without getting a dog." I didn't say it at the time, but in my head I said, Baby. It's a good thing you're so cute, because you are not so smart. I'm so desperate for an animal that I've thought long and hard about catching one of our neighborhood coyotes and forcing domestication on it. We are so coming home with a dog.
We heard about Fritz from two different people and on paper, he was all sorts of wrong for us. Too big, first of all. Thirty pounds. And at 8 months, a little too old. But we're suckers with bleeding, oozing, bloody hearts, so we had to give the mutt a chance. Even as we drove to the shelter, Rob had a lady with another, smaller, younger puppy prospect on the phone. He explained to her that there was a sad sack at the pound we just had to see first.
Fast forward to right now. I'm sitting on the futon, resting my feet on a wire-haired mound. We're both exhausted (both me and the mound) since we've been walking for at least two hours every damn day this week. Rob and I now wake up earlier than the people who go through our garbage can for recyclables. We pick. up. feces. It's bizarre.
But in all seriousity, could you say no to this face?
Either of these faces?