leftover sandwiches

August 11, 2011

Since Nico's death a few months ago Bang has been a different dog. She eats books. She eats electronics. She's even more up in your face like watches on models ALL UP IN IT. She is not dealing with her single dog-hood well, the poor thing. In between fleeting visits from friend's dogs she has broadcast a very clear message across the airwaves: I NEED A FRIEND OR I WILL DESTROY ALL YOUR BELONGINGS WITH MY MOUTH.

My own hesitations about getting another dog have therefore been pushed aside in lieu of my fear of having to buy yet another baby monitor. Those things ain't cheap, B. Also, you should not eat soap. Helpful tip of the day.

Are we ready for another dog? Well it doesn't really matter, because Bang is. We've found ourselves running up the escalator instead of coasting gracefully towards the inevitable as I had imagined we would. I knew we would get another dog, it was just a matter of later rather than sooner. Or so I thought.

Spoiler alert: No we did not get a new dog. Yet. Though damned if I'm not trying.

I casually suggested to Jon that we cruise the SPCA Tuesday night because what the hell, why not? Not only are we sort of in the market for a new dog it fills Jude with the joy. "Dog doggie dog dog dog KITTIEEESSS! Hugadog. Down please." Yeah. He's a fan of what he now calls 'the doggiekittie.'

Who would have guessed there actually WAS a pathetic little dog there that I took a shine to. A tiny bitty little thing with a huge scar covering her back. They didn't know much about her other than that she was 10 months old and abandoned, though obviously there was some serious abuse in there somewhere because they were calling her Scar.

Normally, I would shun such a puny little dog. Dog? This are not a dog. In fact, I wanted to name her Rat-Cat. But if ever there was a time we would get a little dog who needed a home, it was hers. We left so we could think about it. Neither of us were quite ready to make the plunge.

After sleeping on it, and my 'it' I mean the idea of the little dog whilst on my mattress not literally on the little dog because that thing would DIE, we were in. Jon thought of a fabulous name for her. I started to get psyched. We went directly after work to fetch her, except she had already been adopted. Ponycakes for her, sad clown for me.

I took it a little harder than one might imagine because of a previous pile of Leftover Sandwiches that had imprinted on my heart like a baby duckling. Yes, sandwiches. I will explain.

There was once a funny little mutt I found on petfinder, before there was Bang, back when we were a one-dog household. He was named Leftover Sandwiches. That was his listed name, not the one I made up. Kismet, right? He had sass, he had verve. We were destined to be together.

I called the shelter, a few states away, and put a hold on him. I called the airline. I made travel arrangements for hours on the telephone. When I called later that week to set up the transfer via plane they admitted that they had actually missed my hold and adopted my sandwiches out to someone else.

If sandwiches had been an isolated incident still, things would not be so bad. But since then we've lost spca dogs in lotteries, been denied others on petfinder for application errors or just plain spite, on and on and on. Jinxed, I tell you. Whatever witch put this curse on me I'm ready for it to be lifted.

All I want is to help these stupid homeless dogs, is that so hard?! We have a good dog-home. We love dogs. LET ME HELP ONE, PLEASE. So if my perhaps over-sadness about Rat-Cat seems silly, understand the long trail of winding disappointment that has brought me to this place.

Despite the prematurity of the Rat-Cat situation yeah, I'm downtrodden, dejected, despondent. I really would prefer to adopt a dog rather than pay out honeymoney dollars for a puppy from some creeper in the paper. I have dog-adopting burnout. If I were "on the market" as they say I'd be cursing men to the seas and closing up my match profile. Not that I'm dating dogs, because that would be weird, but I sure keep getting the shaft from their dog pimps.

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