It had to be fate because somehow in that storm of unpleasant sounds and smells we found each other.<\/p>\n
We were face to face, eye to eye,\u00a0assessing each other.<\/p>\n
I thought No, he looks too much like the dog I grew up with and I don’t want a re-run; I want a new edition<\/em><\/p>\n And he just looked at me.<\/p>\n My son squatted down to his level and squealed He’s perfect!<\/em><\/p>\n So we took him home – after paying $50, being grilled to determine our suitability as prospective dog owners and after filling out more forms than I had to fill out at at the hospital after I had each of my children.<\/p>\n I thought Maybe more children would be happier if we screened parents the way the dog pound screens adopting pet owners<\/em>.<\/p>\n The name on his cage at the pound was Handsome, so that’s what we called him. Handsome, indeed.<\/p>\n He was a Miniature Poodle – Bichon Frise mix. That’s what it said on the card.<\/p>\n I was grateful that we aren’t always labeled by our ancestry. Irish – English mix. \u00a0That’s what mine would say.<\/p>\n Then I realized that some people are<\/em> labeled by their ancestry because of the color of their skin, and I was a little ashamed. Ashamed of a thought unspoken.<\/p>\n We took Handsome home.<\/p>\n He broke out of the house and ran away on the very first day. I don’t know if this is going to work out<\/em>, I told myself.<\/p>\n I felt frantic as I searched, knowing I had to find him, even though others heard me mutter things like Damn dog, I knew this was a mistake<\/em>.<\/p>\n We found him two days later, rescued by a neighbor.<\/p>\n I was relieved, joyful. He jumped into my arms and licked my face. I kissed him and whispered into his ear Don’t you ever leave me again<\/em>.<\/p>\n He never did.<\/p>\n The months rolled by, then a year.<\/p>\n His new adoptee behavior wore off and his own personality emerged.<\/p>\n Protective, loving, stubborn, smart.<\/p>\n He learned his own name and a few cute little tricks, but his own strong will persisted.<\/p>\n He\u00a0showed us who was boss by pooping in the living room (regularly) or barking at one of the kids.<\/p>\n But no matter what, every time I came home, he’d jump into my arms and wiggle with joy<\/p>\n He’d snuggle next to me while I slept<\/p>\n Lick the tears from my cheek when I cried<\/p>\n Run to me when I called his name (and even my kids never did\u00a0that)<\/p>\n Seem to listen to me when I needed to talk, even if he wasn’t (a trick my husband has yet to learn).<\/p>\n In the day to day moments of home life, he became a member of the family, an ever-present quiet (usually), loving (almost always) companion.<\/p>\n He’s perfect.<\/p>\n Sometimes I wonder how life would have been different if I had walked by him at the pound to the hyper little chihuahua in the next cage or the gorgeous Australian Shepherd across the aisle.<\/p>\n Sometimes I wonder Who owned him before he was found wandering in the country and taken to the dog pound?<\/em><\/p>\n Do they have any idea what they missed? Of course not.<\/p>\n It’s probably their fault that he poops he in the living room.<\/p>\n It can’t be his. Or mine.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" It had to be fate because somehow in that storm of unpleasant sounds and smells we found each other. We were face to face, eye to eye,\u00a0assessing each other. I thought No, he looks too much like the dog I grew up with and I…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":52,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[7],"tags":[9,39],"class_list":["post-1563","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-marathon-poem","tag-veronica-robbins","tag-we-met-at-the-pound"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1563","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/52"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1563"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1563\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1694,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1563\/revisions\/1694"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1563"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1563"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1563"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}