The scoopage on Millie

Okay, so I absolutely, logically and rationally know that this is NOT the right time to get a new dog. BUT....I've been sneaking a peek at Petfinder.com for the last 2 or 3 months and every time I go, I'm drawn to the senior dogs.

You know, the ones with the graying muzzles and sad faces. The ones that are less likely to get new homes because everyone wants a cute little puppy.

Well, this face and description kept popping up:



Hello my name is Millie and I am a 9 year old beagle girl that was left here by my owner. I do not know why. I am a quiet, calm girl and sure could use a new home. Get me off this darn damp concrete here at the pound. I am spayed, good with kids, dogs, and cats. Yes I am a senior girl, but 9 years is not so old for a beagle. I have no apparent health issues. I walk nicely on the leash even though my beagle nose is to the ground. Please come out and meet me. Love, Millie.

It was love at first sight.

But I decided that the timing was wrong and that if she was still available by the time I moved into my mother's house a month or so down the road, then it was meant to be. I even renamed her. What kind of name was Millie? They always pick names for them anyway so it's not like the dog knows that name.

I've been so completely overwhelmed at the notion of combining my household with my mother's and getting my house ready to sell, that I've been paralyzed into doing nothing.

So...why not get a dog??? The pound she was at is about an hour away from me in BFE. That's bum fuck Egypt or WAY, WAY out there for those of you who aren't familiar with the term.

I got lost getting there. OF COURSE. I arrived at the pound 7 minutes before they closed and ran to the door.

There was a young guy standing behind the desk.

Me, completely out of breath: "beagle....petfinder....Millie....want to adopt...where....beagle!!"

He was totally confused but somehow managed to point me in the direction of the kennel. I passed the flurry of dogs barking, "take me! take me!"

And then I saw her. Sleeping on the cement floor at the back of a cage.

I knelt down, "Millie?" and she slowly walked over to the door, tail wagging and licked my hand through the bars.

The dog warden was passing by when I said, "I know you're closing, but I want this dog."

"Well...you know she's an OLD dog. NINE."

Yes, asshole, I know. Okay, I didn't say that. I said, "I know, that's why I want her."

I filled out all the paperwork just to realize I was $20 short since they only accepted cash. I asked them to hold her, kissed her head goodbye and went back the next day.

"Oh, by the way," the clerk said in the morning, "She's limping. She just started after we took her out to Tractor Supply and came back a few days ago."

Why the hell are you taking her to Tractor Supply???? They claimed that they didn't know why she was limping and that the vet wasn't there on the weekends.

Sure enough, I let her walk around a little and she was limping like Tiny Tim. God bless us, everyone!

Oh well...I had already fallen in love with her. And since I brought Bernie with me, she loved her too. There was no use turning back now.

And Millie is her real name. Can't change it now. I mean, if someone adopted me tomorrow (Shut it! It could happen...)I certainly wouldn't want them changing my name.

Well, guess what? I took Miss Millie to the vet today and she might need knee surgery! Now, according to the paperwork, I have three days to return her, but I think we all know that isn't going to happen.

I guess God just knew that I needed another little old lady to take care of.

Too bad this one doesn't have Medicare.