We interrupt the previously scheduled programming of emotional spillage to share with you the saga of Our Stray Puppy.
Yep. It's happened. In classic "Leave It To Beaver" style, my children have fallen in love with a stray puppy that happened upon us as we were innocently wending our way to the park yesterday. They have named it "Oh Shucks". Why, you ask, gentle reader? Because that was my initial reaction to it's presence. Trust me when I say that was the censored version of what was actually going through my head.
The puppy followed us home and was waiting eagerly in the yard this morning when the children went out to play.
It's rather disconcerting to hear one's children yelling "Shuuu-uucks, Oh Shuuuu-uuuucks" all morning. You can probably hear it all over the neighborhood. Vocal stamina and volume run strong within us.
This is bad. Very Bad.
I am not a pet person. I discovered this when we had our dog, Lucky. Most of you have already heard all about Lucky. I will not bore you with repetitions of his many sins. Let's just say we discovered that I prefer intact flower beds, dry couches and a flea-less existence to the companionship and entertainment supposedly provided by the canine species. No offense, Laurie and Matt.
So now what do I do? I am loathe to call the SPCA. Ours is not a no-kill shelter. As far as I know we don't even have one in this county. Any other, humane suggestions? Anybody want a puppy?