Foxie Doxie and I spent the evening watching the Westminster Kennel Club dog show. Or, as we refer to it around these parts, “DOGSHOW!”
As someone who is officially insane over dogs, of course I loved it. Foxie wasn’t all that interested, but is always in support of couch time. Everybody wins.
The really great part of DOGSHOW! was the winner – a 10-year-old Sussex Spaniel named, appropriately, Stump.
The really hard part of DOGSHOW! was the Pedigree Foundation commercials. Heartbreakers of dogs in shelters, with the David Duchovny voice over, “I know how to sit. But I don’t know how I ended up here. I just want to go home.”
Oh. My. Gawwwwwwd.
I am a total sucker. And I’ve been thinking about adopting another dog. I know that shelters and rescue organizations are overwhelmed – more so than usual – because of the economy. I feel like it’s my moral responsibility to take in a dog because I am able.
Which I know sounds really … weird.
And some of my friends and definitely my folks think I’m insane. Which, I understand. And, to be fair, one dog is way easier than two.
I think about the Geriatric Poodle every single day. Sometimes, I pull up a picture of him on my computer and leave it open all day, just so I can see him while I work. But this isn’t about replacing him, because that’s impossible. It’s about … seeing exactly how much dog hair my couch will support.
And it’s about creating joy. For me, for Foxie, and for a to-be-determined member of our pack. Foxie is the deal-breaker, of course. No new dog without Foxie’s prior written consent and approval.
Or, maybe it’s just about me becoming a spinster and being allergic to cats and therefore needing an alternative to the 23 cats / housecoat / piles of newspapers power combo. Two dogs / dog-hair-encrusted yoga pants / piles of paperbacks to send to Africa is a good start, don’t you think?.