I’ve been off the bloggers’ grid for a while because of a pretty significant change in our household.  For the past month our hunt for our  dog intensified.  I can’t say how it happened, but our family was on the hunt.  My husband never had a dog and seemed to not be a fan of man’s best friend.  My oldest son was partial to our family of zebra finches.  My youngest son was and still is a huge fan of cats.  I was the only one beating the drum on getting a dog.  I felt the menfolk in our family would benefit from having an interactive pet.  While I continued to beat the drum, I got push back from all sides.  Even my father warned me that having a dog would cramp our style and we didn’t need that kind of burden in our busy lives.

Well, I’m pretty easygoing about things, so I resigned myself to not having a dog and I was fine about it.  In my heart of hearts, I knew the truth about adding another heaping of things-to-do onto my plate.  Let’s be honest, I would have to deal with the lionshare of the work and I’m pretty comfortable right now.  I spend my mornings schooling my children, the afternoon is spent doing errands, housework, or chauffering my boys to one place or another, and my evenings cooking meals and trying to relax with some mindless television, knitting, or spinning.  In the cracks of my day, I shoehorn exercise and reading.  If I could get a nap, I feel guilty, but so relieved to have that moment to unplug.  

Suddenly my husband was watching Cesar Milan every Saturday.  I would join him and we would discuss the episodes as if we were discussing a housewife from one of those reality shows.  He would look at the shelters’ websites, research dogs, and investigate rescues.  My friends would send me links to craiglist listings or post pictures on my Facebook wall.  I would share these pictures with my husband and he will silently contemplate each offering.  I felt like I was in the ocean where the waves were gently pulling me further away from shore while my husband was going in another direction entirely.  I could be listening to an engrossing podcast and get rudely interupted by commentary on one dog or another.  Many times I wondered if we had our own Freaky Friday and switched bodies because he was 100% into the dog search and I was 50%.  Don’t get me wrong, I love dogs.  I grew up with dogs.  I fantasized about having a big dog to hug and run with during my morning jog.  I had dreamt of having a german shephard puppy, but dreams and fantasies are far different than reality.  When I got my pushback, I was content to leave the dreams and fantasies alone.

Being a poop or get off the pot sort of woman, I pushed the envelope and encouraged a visit to the local shelter.  Looking at all the dogs gazing back with sad, resentful, or hopeful eyes broke my heart.  I felt the worse for the pitbulls because I knew the odds were not in their favor for adoption.  Then we saw a dog we both loved, but we couldn’t have him.  Then we continued our search finding dogs that we loved but were spoken for or were too broken to be adopted.  One time we had gone to two shelters in a day and the shelters were in two cities nearly 45 minutes apart.  Finally I saw a chocolate labrador puppy that drew my attention.  Something told me to stop the madness and pick him as the family pet.  I was the only one who really took to the puppy, but I was okay with that.  Unfortunately, we lost the bid to have the dog because another family was willing to bid a small fortune to have him.  Feeling I had given it all that I had, I was content in knowing we tried.  As I strolled back to the parking lot thinking about my breakfast, my husband dragged me back into the shelter to point out the dog he and my cat loving son LOVED.


What about my breakfast?


Well, here I sit looking at Cosmo sleeping like an angel.  He’s 4 months old and all PUPPY. I feel like I’m tending to a baby all over again.  He’s a good dog.  He’s a smart dog.  Yes, my plate is too full.  I haven’t watched one show to completion.  My knitting has barely been touched.  I still fill my cracks in the day with exercise and reading, but I’m tired. My husband loves this dog and I’m happy that he’s found this puppy joy.  My bird loving son is completely on board because he has also found the puppy joy.  My youngest is okay with it.  In the end it all worked out.


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