Most of you know, I'm not really a dog person; I mean, I've had important dogs throughout my childhood, life; but the last 10 years or so, I've avoided them for a myriad reasons because of career, schedule, lifestyle...and honestly, because like other people's kids, I really just don't like them.
When Tammye Deimel and I got back together, I was less than enthusisatic about her steadfast dedication to fostering dogs en route to Colorado; plus, she had rescued an old Walker Treeing Hound named Rosie, that seemed to care even less about me. Eventually, Rosie and I came to terms with one another...and I embraced Deimel's passion for helping these foster dogs...some really sweet, while others very easy to send on their way.
Recently, we acquired a gregarious one year old mutt who was only scheduled to be with us for a week; he had a ton of good energy fetching balls, running with GEORGI, chasing deer and geese in the creek near our home, learning quickly how to use the doggie door, riding well in cars, and co-habitating with Rosie beautifully. We bonded....blah blah blah.
After packing him up to leave Tuesday afternoon, I walked back into the house, started work at my laptop, and very unexpectedly began to weep. Deimel looked at me slack jawed, wondering if I I was having a stroke as I snorted, shook trying to regain my composure. Eventually, I pulled it together and we decided as a family to keep the dog. As I write this he's sleeping on the couch between us as we sip our morning coffee. I'm glad he's staying...despite the fact that now the girls have taken to asking me sarcastic questions like "Hey, dad...if you have to mow the lawn today, do you think you're going to cry?" I can take it...he's worth it.