keith

Sort of a sad day, today.

Rebecca's been wanting a puppy for a long time. I'm not philosophically opposed to the idea of a puppy (what manner of cold-hearted bastard would you have to be to not like puppies?), but I just didn't think it was practical -- or fair to the dog -- when we were living in a studio apartment.

I was also worried about our opposing schedules and the practical concerns of dog ownership (I.E. picturing my collection of obsolete game consoles mangled and druel covered, our apartment deposit pissed away, etc).

Well, now that we've got a new place with lots of space and we're making more money, I really couldn't resist any longer.

I thought it would be better to get a rescue dog from a shelter than to buy a new puppy, and Rebecca agreed. So many dogs need rescued, after all, and it's also a lot less expensive, because they're already altered and vaccinated.

So Rebecca went to the city's animal shelter on Friday and brought home an adorable 10-week old dachshund-terrier mutt boy. He was so pitiful, I could see why she fell for him. Just so meak and loveable, with big eyes that just made you feel so sorry for him. He was timid from the first, tail tucked between his legs and shy of approaching anyone, scared of the stairs to the apartment, the car, other people and dogs, pretty much everything. He was also fairly lethargic from the beginning. Well, the first night, he threw up, and didn't eat anything. We chalked it off to nerves and shock, but then he also didn't eat Saturday, and just got weaker and more lethargic, until he didn't even want to come out of his crate -- just laid there and wagged his tail feably. Poor little guy. We called him Courage.

Sunday he was even worse. Just threw up and threw up and only got out of his crate after we picked him up and took him outside to potty. When we did that, he wandered sadly over to a corner of the building and threw up some more. After that, I was honestly afraid that he would die during the night. We wet his dry food and warmed it up, tried canned wet food, tried to make him eat... what little we got down him came right back up.

I would have loved to take him to a vet, but we just couldn't afford it, at all, for another week or so, and I didn't want him to starve to death.

So I took him back to the city animal shelter this morning. He threw up again in the car on the way over, and just stared at me sadly with those big eyes and wagged his tail weakly while I petted him. Then he hung his head like it was too heavy to hold up anymore, and just laid limply in my arms when I picked him up to carry him inside.

The girl at the desk was very kind about it. Said that they'd have their vet look at him, and gave me a certificate for an exchange, basically, if we want to adopt a different animal later. I'm glad Rebecca wasn't with me. For some reason, I turned into a blubbering mess -- voice cracking, involuntary noises, snotty nose and all.

I play like I'm all mr. rational, but I'm a big softy, really, y'know. And I especially love dogs.

Rebecca said that he had two brothers that were also adopted the same day as him -- he's very cute -- so I can only hope the shelter's vet can cure him so he can be adopted again. If not, being put to sleep is kinder than starving to death.

P.S. Before anyone asks why we'd get a puppy if we couldn't afford a vet visit -- we normally would be able to, we just didn't imagine in a million years one becoming deathly ill in the first three days.