Four years ago this past February or March, my husband and I went to the shelter “just to look.” We saw a couple of dogs we might have been interested in, and even one who wasn’t a mangy cur with whom we played. I don’t have problems with mangy curs—at this shelter they take care of those afflicted and nurse them back to health so they can be adopted.
After playing, Rudolf—soon-to-be Rudy—was returned to a room near the seating area where people fill out adoption paperwork and make up their minds. Rudy wasn’t in a kennel surrounded by a chain link fence, but a swanky room with tall windows looking out onto the street. The other side was made of windows that faced the hallway. The walls on the other 2 sides of the room were plastered, and kept the dogs “separated.” He had a roommate, who was in the process of being adopted.
While we sat contemplating whether we should change ours—and the cats’—lives, I heard a man address “Rudolf,” admiring his hazel eyes, and telling his friend, “This guy’s adorable—he’s gonna be adopted soon.”
My ears perked up at that, and I made up our mind — we were adopting Rudy. That day. Turns out that man was right!
Have you ever adopted a shelter dog?