It’s a fact: the mutts in our lives chose us; we didn’t choose them. The stories of how they adopted us are as unique as they are. I thought I’d take some time this week, in honor of National Mutt Day, and share a few mutt stories.
Always an advocate of pet adoption, I wrote about Ruby in Adopting a Pound Puppy.
From the start, Ruby decided to become my shadow. Our greyhound, Scout, loved and was loved by most people in our neighborhood.
Feeling a bit left out, Kurt would comment from time to time, “I wish I had a dog that loved me!”
Ask and you shall receive.
It was summer 2007, about a week shy of the 4th of July. Austin and I were deeply engrossed in tight game of Phase 10 when, bounding through the front door, Sabrina yelled, “Momma, there’s a puppy outside!”
Laying down our cards, we left the table to investigate the situation. Sure enough, the most adorable black weinie dog mix was sniffing around the flower bed, waiting patiently for the return of his new found friend. His origin was unknown, as if he appeared out of nowhere, but I had the sinking suspicion that he was dumped at the pond near our house, an unfortunate but common occurrence in these parts.
“He is pretty stinking cute.”
Snuggling him close to her cheek, and tuning her voice to full syrup mode, she asked, “Can we keep him?”
Ugh. How was I going to say no to not one to two pairs of big brown eyes.
Luckily, my partner in administering tough love pulled into the driveway at that moment. Running up to greet him with pup in tow, our future Humane Society President shrieked, “Look Dad! A puppy! Isn’t he so cute?”
“Where did you get that dog? And no, we are not keeping him!”
“Whew!” I exhaled, taking off my invisible “Bad Cop” hat.
Not taking no for an answer, Sabrina persisted through dinner and thereafter. “He’s soooo cute! I’ll take care of him! I promise!”
“No, no and no!” Kurt can be persistent as well.
But then Mother Nature intervened.
The skies began to darken, even though the sun was far from setting. Thunder began to rumble in the distance. A storm was approaching.
“We can’t leave that poor puppy outside,” cried our despondent seven year old.
Ignoring her pleas, we kept our eyes glued to the television, hoping the storm would pass us by.
The howling wind, the streaks of lightning, and the malevolent thunder were accompanied by yelps of a puppy in anguish. In mere moments, unable to withstand such distress, Kurt grumbled, grabbed a towel, and opened the front door. Ever so gently, he reached down to retrieve the little guy, wrapped him up, walked the bundle back to the recliner, and sat down.
They’ve been practically inseparable ever since!