Heartbreaker

I sure wasn’t planning on adding a new dog to the household last month.

But I wasn’t planning on losing one either.

Or for that matter, the second one I lost earlier in the summer.

I choose to believe Grandma Greta, my chi-doxie diva, and Mariah, a sweetheart of a corgi, are calm and comfortable this day.

Such sweet seniors they were.

I envision them now young again, playing in fields of green grass and pink wildflowers.

Still I was growing more restless after Greta passed seeing another empty dog bowl.

And another empty bed.

I’m also aware that my lame senior corgi Maggie is now 13.

And my aging Yorkie Tucker, age 9, would never do well as an only dog.

So I thought I would start my research, study up some. Maybe even look at a few dogs.

Just to get an idea or two.

I became enamored with the idea of taking on a big black senior dog with one of those sweet gray muzzles.

I knew they were having trouble finding homes in my town.

Yet I also knew it wasn’t realistic for me. I need to be able to lift a dog myself if necessary. I’m having back issues now lifting my 25 pound corgi Maddie to take her outside or to see the vet.

So I went on line to look at pet adoption websites.

Another black senior chi doxie mix showed up, just like the one I’d just lost.

Amazingly, her name was also Greta. Yet I knew there could never be another Grandma Greta in my heart.

And this one was living close to the Canadian border.

Much farther away than I could ever safely travel in January.

So I continued my research on my lunch hour at the local shelter.

I was charmed by the first dog I saw.

He was a gentle, senior beagle mix. At 12 years old, I wondered if he’d ever find a home.

But he did.

And only an hour after I’d driven back to work.

My research continued the following week when I drove back to the shelter.

This time I met a sweet and stout spaniel, age 9.

Sally, I believe was her name.

I knew Sally was beyond a weight I could manage, but oh the way she looked up at me.

What a beautiful soul.

Did she need me, I wondered?

But I was distracted suddenly by the dog in the next cage.

He was a tiny thing, and a little funny looking with his long spindly legs and hair that spiked up.

But he was kind of a handsome man, too.

His card said he was very shy, and that he’d participated in a program to help him overcome it.

This dog must be the type that cowers in the corner I was thinking.

And as a result, often passed up for adoption.

Yet this happy guy appeared to have graduated with honors.

He marched right up to me to introduce himself when I read his name out loud.

He then met my eyes and and kept the eye contact going as I spoke to him.

I heard the dog had been transported from the south with a group of other chihuahuas.

Former puppy mill pooches, I wondered?

Yet this one before me was only half chihuahua, with the rest of his pedigree still a mystery.

No matter.

His personality wasn’t a mystery at all.

And the little fellow knew exactly what he wanted.

He wanted me!

As I walked out of the shelter with my new buddy, we both stopped to greet the stout senior spaniel.

She, too, was leaving with her new adoptive parents. And she looked up at me again, beaming.

“Hey boy,” I said. “Doesn’t she look happy?”

Then looking back at my own handsome man, I added, “And so are we!”

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