Snoop-Lion, Pt. 1: A Life in the Balance.

A wise person once said, 'You never know when you will meet your next lesson in life.' Well, okay, no wise person ever said that. I made that up just now but I'm pretty good at faking wise every now and then and it's TRUE. Lessons come in all shapes and sizes, most of them pretty surprising. Andis and I's most recent lesson has come in the shape and size of our 12 year old, recently adopted, geriatric dog Snoop-Lion. Let me back up a tad.

4 months ago we lost our sweet, sweet boy Jackson to lymphoma. It came and he went within a week and all of a sudden we were left with this huge gaping hole in our hearts shaped like a lanky Austrailian shepherd with one blue and one brown eye and the cutest freckles you ever did see. Don't get me wrong, I'm THANKFUL that he went so quickly and didn't have to suffer much, but oh my gosh talk about an emotional train wreck. I was. And of course when you are an emotional train wreck and you weren't expecting to be, the only thing TO DO is STUFF that hole with something that looks and feels and acts similar. The PROBLEM is, whatever you're stuffing with, usually ends up having the opposite affect as what you had originally hoped.

Snoop-Lion enter stage left.

I had spent a few weeks mourning and then I spent another few weeks feeling guilty for how quickly I wanted another dog and then I spent a few hours rationalizing that if we ADOPTED a dog and saved it from a life of small spaces and noisy neighbors and looming euthanasia, the fact that I wanted another dog so soon was appropriate, right? Say 'RIGHT'. So, naturally I'm looking for puppies because who wants an older dog anyway? That's like wanting to have another child and then stopping and saying, 'Nah. I'd rather change an OLD PERSON'S diaper instead, and adopting the first grandpa you see.' Pretty sure that happens never. But despite my inital thought process, it popped in my head that an older dog might be nice. Because let's face it, those midnight potty training sessions are not all their cracked up to be. However, I thought older as in a year or two or three, not three TIMES four! So, I'm scrolling through the pages and pages of dogs and becoming more and more depressed that I can't bring ALL of them home and then I see him. Snoopy. For such a terrible name I couldn't peel my eyes away from his face because he looked like Jackson's long lost twin, or maybe his dead beat dad or maybe a creepy uncle. My heart dropped into my stomach and time hung in the balance for 1,2...like the masochist that I tend to be in my darker moments, I clicked on his profile and there it was....Snoop-Dog was 12. That's 84 in dog years people. EIGHTY FOUR! He could have been Jackson's GREAT-GRANDPA. I started balling. I mean, break your heart in two, body wrecking sobs. Never mind that I was at WORK, at the FRONT DESK where crying of this nature is typically frowned upon. I had to have him. Throw out all reason and all common-sense, my grieving heart knew that NO ONE in the entire WORLD would adopt this old dog but ME, RIGHT NOW, and only because I was in the throes of grief. (NOTE to SELF: Probably not a good idea to make ANY permanent life changing decisions while in the throes of grief. A new hair color or some retail therapy would work, perhaps even some real therapy, but not adoption. In the future, let's spend some time thinking through this ok? Ok.) So, of course, next order of business, the Husband Call, dun, dun dun. What husband in his right mind would say NO to a slobbering, sobbing, broken hearted, grieving woman who lost her one and only furry baby. Well, if you MUST know, MY HUSBAND would. I don't call him 'the Risk Assessor' behind his back for no reason. So, in addition to my slobbery sobbing, I had a carefully crafted list of pros and cons to 'make sense' of this entire interaction. And if that didn't seal the deal, I followed it all up with an extra heart wrenching, but I WANNNNNNTTTTT HIM. Thankfully, I didn't have to pull out the snotty, 'Well, I don't care what you say,  I'm going to the shelter anyway' card. That usually doesn't go over too well and needs to be reserved for extreme scenarios which thankfully are fewer and further between as I pretend to mature. Husband permission in my back pocket, borrowed cash from co-workers in my wallet and a heart full of hope, I pointed the car West. My destination? To Save A Life. Little did I know it might just be my own.