I considered getting a dog recently. that was a huge fail. designer dogs -formerly known as mutts, cost thousands of dollars, and I didn’t pass muster with the rescue people. dog people should definitely be hired before a human even considers getting married. they put you through a massive and breathy interview, going back biblically, to every four legged animal you’ve had in your personal ark, and must know why? why is that animal not here now? why is it gone missing? they require permission to visit your home, where said rescue creature will reside. this lengthy process could impact the current divorce rate! unless of course, you lie. the request for references has always been a bit of a mystery. why would anyone give a bad reference? you know… someone who may spill the real beans on you?
I’ve had a colorful history with animals. I’ve acquired some, and at points, some have been re homed for a multitude of wise reasons. my neighbors, herein referred to as “dog people” were aghast to know I’d done this evil thing - as were the rescue people - hence, the fail on the adoption interview. “dogs are family, they cried!”
turns out, every single re homed four legged creature, was delirious in their new environment. it was always a step up. from condos to acreage and owners oohing and ahhhing and fawning over them to the nth degree. I felt like the fairy godmother to these animals, none of whom were wanted in the first place, who I literally rescued, and loved and cuddled and trained and then passed to their forever homes. I acted as the train station, between stops as it were.
alas, telling the truth, not fitting in the rules box, that’s where things get disruptive. though all for the best, it does not bode well on the intake form.