S is for Sucker.

This little beagle puppy followed Griffin and Cheryl (our friendly neighborhood babysitter) home from the park yesterday. For those of you who know me, I could probably end this post right now because you already have a sneaking suspicion as to how this story is going to end. But for those of you who don't...read on. She was very, very cute and tagless, which presented a problem. Our eager babysitter, who apparently is an expert on what people should do when a lost dog follows her to their home, took this picture. She was hyper (a statement that could be applied to either Cheryl or the dog) so it took an enormous amount of effort to corral her in order to get a glamour shot we could use for our ad campaign. Then I took Cheryl home, fed all three kids, loaded them all into the van, and started putting up "Found Dog" signs all over the neighborhood. I fully expected someone to call in immediately. In the meantime, I tried not to get too attached.

Alas, she spent the night in the kitchen. Jeff and I are both dog lovers, but it doesn't take even one brain cell between us to determine that this isn't the best time to be adding to the chaos underfoot by way of a needy puppy - although I will say, she is well on the road to being housebroken, which is more than I can say for some of the current members of our family. So this morning I called Animal Control. Six times. Three to schedule a pick-up, and three to cancel pick-ups. I just couldn't do it. I tried to focus on the word, "Humane", but once I started talking to the "Humane" folks, I decided it was a misnomer. Instead I took her to the vet who was infinitely more positive about the whole owning a dog experience. They scanned her for a microchip (none), gave her a flea treatment and a deworming pill, told me she was about 8-9 weeks old, purebred beagle, and was probably dumped by someone in our neighborhood hoping Melanie would find her. I do not need to be asked twice. I named her Roxy and told Jeff that the community at large had another 24-hours to claim their dog or there would officially be a 6th Freshour. This was his response, "Alright, sweetie. You're already emotionally invested. We'll have to get that fence up STAT." I believe he meant to say, "I'm already emotionally invested." but I let it pass.


So as I was trying to think of some incredibly witty way to end this post, which is basically an announcement for WE GOT A DOG! I got a phone call. Roxy is really Brownie (what kind of a dumb name for a dog is Brownie?) and she belongs to our neighbors. They are very happy to have her back. I was very sad to give her back. So sad, in fact, that I gave them a very hard time on the phone when they were trying to describe her and then a very stern lecture on how to care for beagles when they got here - which was way too fast for my taste. I was actually still on the phone with them as they were racing up to my door. But then when I realized Brownie really was theirs, I gave them the new puppy bag I had gotten from the vet. Because, clearly, they need some instruction. Now I am left with just a kitchen full of dead fleas. It is a dismal day in Melanieville. I would dwell on it, but someone has to make dinner.