Nyquil Dreams

I was sick with a cold for most of the week, so for three straight nights I took that glorious green liquid known as: Nyquil. I slept like a rock, but in exchange I had to endure a lot of very strange dreams. One night, I dreamt that we lost our home. Wait, it gets better. P and I were trying to move into an apartment and were filling out some paperwork to that end. We sat on one side of a beige metal desk while a middle-aged man (who was actually, oddly enough, one of the dog trainers from "Dog Town," one of my favorite shows on the National Geographic channel) sat on the other side.

He scanned our paperwork and then looked up at me. "Mrs. M, you didn't fill in your weight right here." He pointed at the blank line where my weight should go. I shook my head to indicate that I would not be divulging that information. "Well, you can't move in if you don't fill in your weight."

"Then I guess . . . " I replied, " . . . we'll be homeless."

Nice to know that my sub-conscious mind would subject my family to life on the streets rather than reveal my weight. My conscious self probably would have balked at it, too, though.

Other than that, it's been an uneventful week. Boxer Rescue has been very busy. We have lots of new dogs coming in (thanks, suck-ass economy!) but we've also had a lot of placements. I do the paperwork when a dog gets adopted, so that's kept me hopping for the past few days.

Tomorrow, I am taking Fritz-a-Million, my foster dog, to a pet expo in hopes of generating a little interest in him. The rescue has a booth at the expo. He really is a very nice dog; he's just a tough placement because of his age. Honestly though, if I didn't know how old he is (nine), I wouldn't think he was any older than six. I just have to think there is someone out there who would enjoy a nice, easygoing companion. I've only noticed one bad habit with him: when A and I are playing tag in the house, Fritz sometimes runs after me and nips my ankles. I'll stop and say, "What are doing, old man?" and he'll look at me and explain that he just had an out-of-body experience for a second there.

I've been attending these pet expos for the past nine years and I have to confess that I never really get any better at it. I try to leave the whole "chatting with the public" thing for other volunteers who are more qualified. If you ever go to a pet expo, here are a couple of things not to say:
  • "He must smell my dog." He probably does but after the 99th time someone has said it, we just run out of responses.
  • "I'd take you home right now except for A, B, or C." Believe me, we know you would love to take the dog home. It's just that it doesn't make us feel any better about the dog's plight to know that you won't be taking him home.

What should you say, then? Well, the rescue volunteers really do enjoy chatting with people about Boxers and rescue and all that good stuff. Throw a buck in the donation jar, ask us about our adventures in fostering, or tell us about your own dog. You could bring a treat or two for the foster dogs in attendance. Or, better yet, you could bring me a treat. It's all good.

Comments

Mary said…
You continue to crack me up!!;) I can see myself dreaming the same thing, just give me time!!;) What I recently ran into in real life though is Rick has been coming with me to my back doc appts. When I ran in to this new doc he INSISTED he needed my weight. Believe when I say this is not the only thing I did not care for about this guy. One of the others might me the fact that he took a personal call from his wife and chit chatted about the weather and I know because I heard every bit of it! I could go on.... but my point is even though it is OBVIOUS I am overweight I had to give a number, no I'm not revealing it here but I even lied!!;) Not by that much because that would be obvious!
Great, I get to see Fritz tomorrow then!! I will also be sure to say, "He smells my dog".... J/K!!!
Liz said…
Claudia, I have to give you hope for Fritz with this little story. I promise to keep it brief.
So DH and DD and I, of course I was there I'm the boss, decided that it was time to add to our family, in the pet sort of way! We went to many different places to look for a kitten but none of them would do, they just weren't the one we were looking for. At last we went to our vets office to ask him if there was any kittens needing a good home and to our amazement he said "No, no kittens but I do have one great cat. She is in great need of a home. She is old and her owner died. there is no one that wanta her because she is so old." We asked how old she was and we were shocked to hear that she was 13 years old. that is just down right old in a cat's life. But one look at her and we knew she was ours. She had the cutest face, all speckled with spots. We turned to our vet and told him "We'll take her. We'll love her for as long as she lives. She will live out her life in with the best of the best!" And she did. She lived another 2.5 years and was the best memeber of our family! We will miss Gini but I know she was happy to live with us in our hime and we were blessed to have her.

Someone will come along just like us and fall in love with the Fritz man!!

Liz
Laurie Green said…
I love the senior citizens too. When we got our Boxer Jake at the shelter, he was emaciated and ancient looking. I couldn't bear the thought of him dying alone there, so we brought him home so he could die with dignity. Well, he must have liked it here because he lived another 3 yrs! And he never ever was a spot of trouble and when he did die he did it peacefully in his sleep. I would adopt another senior boxer in a heartbeat.

And a side note: I just want to thank you for NOT having music on your blog that comes on when I'm halfway through reading a post and scares the living crap outta me!
Audreee said…
I didn't know Fritz's middle name was amillion, or is that his last name?
Alabaster Mom said…
Craggy, he has several nicknames, including Junkyard Dog (because of the way he barks through the fence like he is seriously gonna take someone DOWN), Hall Monitor (because of the way he barks at the other dogs when they are playing, as if to say, "stop having fun!"), and Fritz-a-Million (I have no explanation for that one).

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