Even if it was not going to work
out, while the kids wandered around the shelter, I asked the man if we could
take the little one someplace quiet so I could have some one-on-one time. I
wasn’t sold on the pooch yet, and I wanted to see if I could get him to sit. I
didn’t want any of us to get attached, but at the same time I didn’t want to
take a dog home that didn’t want to let me to practice using my behaviorist
skills.
The man allowed the indulgence
and ushered the dog and me to a small, private “get acquainted” room. I knew I
didn’t have much time before the kids would discover me with the dog, so once
alone in that room, I got busy. Not only was I able to get the dog to sit, I
was also able to get him to track the treat and follow me around the room off
leash. I thought it was a great sign, and by the time the kids found me working
with my new friend, he was sitting on the floor by my side. I felt like I had
located a golden nugget, and I didn’t want anyone to discover that there was
more gold in here until I had secured it all for myself. I gave some treats to
the kids, told them to see if they could get the dog to sit, and took off to
look for the volunteer who had been assisting me.
“What’s the story with that stray
little doggie?” I had located the man in a room where he had grabbed the
magazine earlier. I guessed it was like an office for the people who helped out
at the shelter. When I looked around I saw sign in sheets, books about dogs and
cats, a lot of magazines, and animal supplies everywhere. I felt a little like
I was intruding, but he made me feel at ease, gesturing towards a whiteboard
with notes written about the dogs that were available.“My boy seems to have
bonded with him already. I know the dog is not available until next week. Is he
off limits, or something?” I continued.
“Kind of,”
he replied. “We hold dogs for two weeks after they have been picked up to give
the owner time to locate them here at the shelter… in case they are lost, and
someone wants them back.” The man went on to inform me that he had seen this
sort of thing happen quite often, and that it was unlikely anyone would come in
to claim the dog by now. I felt
encouraged as we walked back to the room where the kids were still playing with
the little stray.
“Small dogs are very popular, and
this one is a pure breed,” he continued. “If you want him as your pet, you are
going to have to work for it.” He was addressing my son more than me.
In the end, his advice was simple.
Keep the dog “busy” everyday; monopolize his time at the shelter in an effort
to try and keep other people from becoming interested in adopting him. This way
we would narrow down the odds of having to compete in a lottery drawing. We
were additionally instructed to be here as the shelter opened its doors on the
dog’s release day. For once, I felt like not having a job was a good thing.
The
volunteer left us alone again to play with the dog and mull things over, but we
were already convinced that it was worth a try. We took over as caretakers for
our little stray friend at that moment, and none of us wavered in our resolve
to adopt him. We stayed at the shelter until it closed that day, and by the
time we were home, we were planning our next visit. We spent the entire weekend
at the animal shelter, and during the weekdays when the kids were out of
school, I would pick them up and we’d drive off to the shelter to visit our dog
“in jail.”
The folks
who worked at the shelter became accustomed to seeing our faces, and they
eventually allowed us to walk the dog outside along a sidewalk, if we stayed
close to the shelter. So by the time adoption day came, we were well acquainted
with the dog, who had by now learned to sit on command. He was a terror on the
leash, walking around the shelter, but we were all sure that we could get him
under control over time. What we loved most about him was how affectionate he
was. He loved to be held, and petted, and hugged, and he loved to sit and relax
in our laps.
On the
Wednesday that our potential pet was “available.” I dropped off the kids at
school, and listened to their explicit instructions not to be late to the
shelter. I assured them that I would be on time, knowing full well that I
didn’t plan on being late. So it wasn’t a surprise when I was parked outside
the animal shelter exactly thirty minutes before the doors would open. My plan
was to watch for the first sign of life, and then go in to announce my
intentions before anyone else could stop me or compete with me for our dog.
Finally,
someone unlocked the doors. Mine was the only car in the lot, and it felt great
knowing that our plan to monopolize the time of our chosen one had worked. I
walked inside the shelter, greeted by the officers who I had come accustomed to
seeing me everyday. “It’s adoption day!” I proclaimed with glee.
I felt like
it was the beginning of a turn for the better. This adoption seemed to be
falling into place without contest. There was no one else clamoring for the
door, and that meant no one to compete against me in a lottery drawing. It was
the quiet, first part of the shelter day, and I alone wanted to adopt the little
Schnauzer. I felt elated.
The officer
at the front desk asked me to wait a couple of moments as she got the paperwork
together, and she suggested I take the walk to the back of the shelter where my
little doggie awaited. I happily complied. As I waited back there, a quiet, well-dressed,
young businessman walked up and initiated a chat with me.
“Are you
planning on adopting this dog?” he asked.
“Yes. We’ve
been excitedly waiting for this day,” I answered. “My son is particularly
attached to him. He is going to be so happy to have a dog. He’s been wanting
one for some time now.”
The man
looked at me curiously, “You have a son?”
“Yes, and a
daughter too. We’ve really been wanting a dog. This one seems perfect for us,”
I answered.
“Well. I
won’t compete against you,” he looked at the Mini-Schnauzer and then back at
me. “My wife will be disappointed, but she keeps saying she wants a Pug, so I
won’t compete. You’ve got a boy.”
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