As long as Brent and I have been together, we’ve talked about getting a dog. We even used to visit to shelters, which basically amounted to torture because neither of us had a living situation where we could bring home a dog.
One day, though, we almost did. It was a litter of black lab mix puppies. As we sat and played with them and picked them up, we went from visitors to adopters.
Brent began filling out the adoption form while I cuddled with our new puppy.
When it was all done, we approached the counter and waiting excitedly as the person examined every last line Brent had filled out.
“Sorry, we can’t adopt to you,” she said curtly to Brent.
“What?” he was flabbergasted.
“Nope. We only adopt to people who promise to spay and neuter,” she said.
Brent had marked the “unsure” box next to spay/neuter question.
“Well can I change my answer? I can neuter him. I just didn’t know it was required,” he pleaded.
“No, can’t do it. Sorry,” she said and walked away.
It wasn’t meant to be.
Months later, we started the “puppy talk” all over again.
Brent and I both wanted a pit bull ... kind of. I wanted a huge mastiff and Brent wanted a little bulldog, and we figured a pit bull was middle ground we could both agree on. Neither of us bought into the myths about the dogs being inherently blood hungry.
A while later, Brent heard about a litter of mostly white pit bull pups through one of his co-workers. We had an anniversary coming up and thought, what better way to spend it than playing with some puppies?
We weren’t 100 percent on getting one, we told ourselves.
We were just going to look (yeah right).
Read more tomorrow.