So the big talk over here at Camp Mix & Bitch is if and/or when we’re going to adopt a shelter dog. It’s either a dog or a third kid, believe it or not.
One of the strange side effects of turning 40 has been this overwhelmingly strong urge to nurture something small. It’s like my body realizes it just made a hard right turn down mid-life crisis highway and is desperate to propagate the species one…last…(cough)…time.
Biology’s a bitch my fine furless friends.
Good thing for me and Mr. Mix that I tied up the internal plumbing years ago, otherwise I may let that toxic drug known as estrogen overrule my common sense and get myself knocked up on purpose. Mr. Mix is an infinitely patient and selfless man, but even I know I’d be pushing it too far with another one.
Between you and me (ahem), if I had my way, I’d be high tailing it over to China or Vietnam in a heartbeat and grab me one of those beyond adorable and precious little Asian babies. Hey, if they’re stupid enough not to want their girls, I’ll take ‘em.
C’mon, how cute is she?
Don’t you just want to bite those little cheeks?
Btw, I am not implying that a dog replaces a human child. I’m just saying that I can handle an adult dog…a baby (even a beyond gorgeous Asian girl baby) is beyond my emotional and financial resources at this point in my life. And I’m pretty sure Mr. Mix would leave me if there was a third baby to contend with around here.
So as long as I don’t get a puppy, I think he’s cool with abating my aching womb syndrome.
Anyhoo, so I’ve been doing lots of research, on breeds, on shelters, on what to expect when you’re expecting something furry, etc. etc. And while I’d like something of a scrappy variety like this little guy…
Drama Queen and Sweet Pea long for a dog more along the lines of this…
I know, I know…it’s not a dog, it’s a duster. But they want something small and cuddly that they can pick up and hold. I get it.
So I start finding dogs on Petfinder and submitting applications to different shelters. Holy Friggin’ Shitballs Batman! These applications were ridiculous. I think I could’ve adopted me some Angelina orphans for less hassle than to get me a goddamn dog in this town.
Long story a bit shorter, I finally chucked the idea of the smaller rescue outfits in favor of the good ‘ol Humane Society of Fairfax County. Within 24 hours, they called me after I filled out only a 2 page application (versus the 4-6 pages monsters with the other rescues, each asking for, like 5 references, my mother’s maiden name, how large is my husband’s left nut, and will I promise to wipe the dog’s ass after every poop for the rest of my life, so help me God?). They told me they’ll line up the kinds of dogs we’re looking for, gave me the address, and made an appointment for next weekend.
Done. Capeesh. Finite.
So once we get the precious mutt, I promise to post some pictures. Wish me luck people!