All the Facts I Know

This is him at the vet’s, where we will meet him tomorrow and decide if we like each other.

He is, as promised, a young adult male, fixed and shot up with all his shots. His foster family calls him Rufus (which I don’t know if we’ll keep, if we decide to do this.). His hobbies, as previously stated, include sitting in laps and cuddling. The other pictures showed him looking pretty chill. His foster family wants to make sure that he ends up in a home where he won’t just live in a backyard, neglected. And, since we’re looking for someone to sit on the couch with us and watch TV and go to the park and go for long car rides and to turn our faces to the warm sun with and who will snore so that we can fall asleep, I think they’ll be pretty pleased with our goals for him.

I think the thing the fosters don’t want for him is to be treated the way that some folks treat their hunting dogs. It’s really odd. You meet some hunters and those dogs–even if they’re not indoor dogs, ever–are really exquisitely taken care of. They have shelter and they have each other and they have plenty of room to move around and their owners spend a lot of time with them. And then there are folks who just basically tie their hunting dog to a tree in the back yard or in a too-small pen and they’re more like racing greyhounds. They just get out to do their jobs and otherwise have small lives.

But anyway, it doesn’t matter. Because the only thing this dog will be retrieving are balls and toys and sticks.

Cold

The yard is making mud onion straws. My walk is filled with crunch crunch crunch crunch swish swish. I’m a cacophony of quiet noises.

The dog’s grave is collapsing down to level. It would be distressing to watch what’s going on down there, but I admit to being curious. I imagine the leveling of the grave is somewhat because of just natural settling, but must also be because she’s already done the part where her middle fills up with gasses and expands to way beyond its normal size and then, pop, sinks back down to regular or less than regular size. As there’s less of her, the dirt falls in to fill the void.

Oh, god, this has become the most morbid post ever. Y’all are going to be so ready to hear about a new dog.