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Weekends With a Dog

At midnight last night:

"What do you think is the probability that Olive will let me sleep in past 7am?"
"Five percent."
"... I'll take it."

Could you guess what time Olive woke me up?

That's right. 6:59am.

Last weekend on our way to the Tasty Tweets Bake Sale we saw a little miniature schnauzer running around on the side of the road. This is very uncommon for our neighborhood, so we pulled over to check his collar. Of which there was none.

We drove a bit into the direction he came from and started knocking on doors. At the first house, the woman didn't recognize the dog. At the other houses, no one was home. We were already running late for the bake sale, so we decided (maybe I decided?) the little dog was coming with us.

He was groomed, but wet up to his armpits. No telling how long he had been out, but it was obvious someone loved him. And he was full of love himself, just the sweetest dog. He sat patiently in the cur during the first half of the bake sale, he did his business quickly and efficiently when I took him out on his leash.

And for the last half of the bake sale, he sat around under a table convincing everyone to take him home. And maybe being fed some cake balls, but I have no evidence to support that claim. All of the evidence mysteriously... disappeared.

After the bake sale, we drove to the animal shelter, discussing what we would do if the dog didn't have a microchip. I wanted to take him home with me and love him and squeeze him and call him George. Naturally. Steve desperately wanted that to not happen.

Seriously, if you have a pet there is no reason to not get it microchipped. If the dog hadn't had a microchip, there would be a very sad family without a dog. And Olive would have had a new brother. And Steve would have left me for someone who hated animals.

The microchip registration told us that the dog's name was Gibson. We called his person and left messages on every phone we could. We drove by his house -- right next door to the woman who didn't recognize him -- and no one was home. But there was a nice Gibson-sized hole under the fence.

Without many more options, but certain that Gibson's people would contact us, we took him home to meet Olive.

That went amazingly well.

Then his people called. They had just gotten off the Kenai River in Cooper Landing and were so grateful we had picked Gibson up. Their friend was supposed to be watching him, but they were now unable to get hold of their friend. It would still be a few hours until they would get back into town, but we told them Gibson was doing well.

When they showed up, it was immediately apparent that they were Gibson's people, and everyone was happy to be reunited.

Except Olive. Who paced all night and kept staring longingly at the door. She was lonely. She missed her new friend. Now we need to gang up on Steve and convince him that Olive needs a little brother or sister. Not like I would ever just come home with a puppy.

Because I've never done that before, DEFINITELY not with Olive.