It’s been about two months since our nearly 16-year-old beagle mix, Floyd, died. The heartache has been weightier than I imagined, even with our 5-year-old pointer mix, Stella, still a happy part of the family. Somehow, the house just feels empty with only one dog in it.
I have been hawking Petfinder for a shelter puppy that might be a good fit for Stella’s playful energy and our lifestyle, and I think we might have found our mutt in the photo at right. If his personality is as cute as his face, and if he actually does have the tendencies that the shelter proclaims, then he will win life’s lottery and become part of our family after we meet him this week.
That is, if we pass our home inspection with the shelter folks. We were number two on the list of possible homes for this dog, and the first home failed to meet the shelter’s expectations. No puppy for them.
I remember when I first met Floyd. He was about the same age as this little guy, around 12 weeks. The farmer who owned him didn’t care who I was or what kind of life I could give him, as long as I would pay the money to take him away. Oh, how times have changed. Now there are lengthy applications, home inspections, and outright denials. And while Floyd cost me $35, the going rate for a shelter mutt today is $250 to $350.
I wonder if we’ll measure up. I don’t even know the criteria on which we’ll be judged. If things go badly on Wednesday, somebody might have to rescue me!