So on Friday, when I received an email from a co-worker with this adorable clip of a dog attempting to eradicate a cat from his bed, I was filled with a sudden longing for a new member of the family. That was the beginning of the end. I forwarded it to Rey, who shared my desire, and shortly thereafter, we made a date to scope out the humane society for dogs that night. Not to adopt one, but just to look. We wanted to make an informed decision before bringing a new animal into our home.
Sure enough, not thirty minutes into our “window shopping,” we came across a gorgeous, chocolate miniature pinscher. One hour later and one-hundred-sixty dollars lighter, Me, Rey and “Eisley” emerged from PetSmart.
Fast-forward to six o’clock the next morning. Rey and I looked at each other the way two strangers must when they awake together in bed after a long night of drinking. Eisley was frantically leaping about the room.
It dawned on us, we're not "dog people."
Four beers and four hours later, with hats in hand, eyes full of tears, and hearts full of shame, we trudged back to the humane society where we “surrendered” Eisley. Naturally, we blamed it on our cat, which couldn’t have been further from the truth. We crafted a wild story about our cat pissing on the bed, World War III and severe emotional distress.
We’re now on adoption probation for the next ninety days. But are looking into purchasing a purebred Scottish Terrier.