Chapter 87

Note: I am aware that this is the second post in one day. When life hands you winter weather in the Spring, you do what is necessary to survive.

I've been told at least 100 times that I should write a book about my life.  So, for kicks. . . I give you the beginning of Chapter 87 (yes, it's a LONG book).

Having only one test left in my Accounting course, I was excited that Matt was taking both of the kids to C's tball practice.  Five minutes after the house was emptied, I settled down to kick out the last test in the only class I actually enjoyed this semester.  It was a timed exam and the sight of the clock made me anxious, but I pushed through.  Within 30 minutes, I received a text, "Look what we found", attached to a picture of a very cute dog. 
By now, you know I'm not really a dog person.  I don't hate them or even dislike them, I just don't prefer them.  It's not them. . . it's me.  Still in the middle of an exam, with the clock ticking in the background, the phone rings.  I hit "reject" - I must stay focused.  Less than three minutes later, the phone rings again.  Again, I reject it, but follow up with a text, "in the middle of a timed exam".  Not to mention - I know what the call is for.  He's been trying to talk me into a small dog for a year now.  I always win and we still don't have a dog.
After finishing the exam (and the semester with an "A"), I call him back.  Because that's the right thing to do and because I love him and because it's just right.
Matt starts with, "she's such a sweet dog" followed by "I think she's almost an adult - she's lost all but one puppy tooth" and "she hasn't barked once and there are plenty of other dogs around" and "she's so gentle with the kids - even P isn't skiddish" and lots of other convincing statements to which I simply reply "yup" at each pause.  Then comes the kicker, "I think we should take her home and try to find her owner and if we can't then we'll just keep her".  Being the one who thinks things through quite obnoxiously, I reply, "You can't just bring her home. We rent now, we'll have to call James (our landlord) and get permission. Plus, we still haven't unpacked and I'm still in school and it's just a lot to deal with right now. Let's wait a month and talk about it again."  By the last statement, I meant "talk about getting a dog later - in about a month", but he responds with, "So, we'll see if she's still lost in a park in a month?!?!?"  I think I simply sighed and we ended our conversation. 
After eleven years of dating, eight years of marriage, two children and a host of other exciting milestones, I would've thought that I had made myself perfectly clear.  He should know by now that the sigh meant, "no, seriously, this is not up for debate - let someone else rescue her - we have enough on our plates. . . and. . .  I don't want a dog!"
Twenty minutes later, I hear the sound of my family coming home.  They're not exactly quiet about it, ever, but I've kinda missed them and am a tad bit excited.  The door opens and my beautiful princess bounces in, her eyes gleaming, with the greatest smile, EVER, screaming, "mommy, mommy. . . we got a new puppy!!!".  I just responding with "yup" and kept up with what I was doing (more homework).  I all but ignored the canine that my darling husband was carrying and pretended to not exist for the remainder of my homework.  The truth was, I couldn't forget the look on P's face and I found the new puppy to be rather adorable.  I must not allow myself to be taken by these minor details - after all, I had all but said, "hell to the no". 
When I felt like I'd had a little time to recover from shock, and was better able to stand my ground, I went out back to join my clan.  The kids were both beaming and Matt was rolling on the ground with this adorable mutt.  Had I gone to sleep??? Did I miss something??  Maybe the part where he called me back and talked me into it and I agreed to bringing the dog home???  Nope.  None of that.  Reality was - I was now the foster mom to a dog that I was convinced someone was missing terribly.  Because. . . she was adorable and trained and smart and trained and clean and sweet and adorable. . .
It was now time for bedtime and we went through our usual rituals, tucked them into bed and started to get settled into the evening.  Before doing so, however, we made another trip out back to check on the well-being of this mutt that had invaded my home.  At some point in that visit out back Matt said, "we just can't name her" to which I shamefully admit, "I've already named her Daisy".  He just laughed. That night, she spent an hour cuddled on the couch with the two of us and I kinda liked it.

The next day I started the search for her owner and with every possible match, my heart sank.  It was then that I knew I hadn't won at all.  In fact, Matt and Daisy had won.  I even showed off pictures of her at work that day. Then someone said something that struck me with so much fear that I almost passed out, "awwww, you're such a good dog-mom".  ME?!?!?  Really?!?!!? Okay - I WAS dreaming.  But dream or no dream. . . we still hadn't talked to our landlord.  Later that evening, he & Matt talked.  He wasn't too excited about it and initially said "no" at which point I wished that I could somehow rewind time and be more fierce with my "no, you can't bring her home".  But a little later he told us that we could keep her, but she couldn't stay inside (meaning while we were gone or while unattended) - I found myself relieved and then completely shocked that I was even concerned to begin with!!!

There you go. . . a taste of chapter 87.  I will say that it's been 3 days now. . . I have taken her to a ball game and even allowed her to come in and sleep with me this morning because it was cold out.  I have no idea what is wrong with me, but I secretly hope that we can't find her owners.
I will add this, however. . . as a responsible adult, a good pet-mom, and good person all around. . . I took plastic bags with me to the park so if she pooped, I could clean it up.  And my stance is still this, "I don't allow my children to walk around the neighborhood, pooping in people's yards and so even if you consider your dog to be like your child, clean up your mess - it's nasty and rude!"