New pup on the block
Today was my first visit to the “pound” as it was called when I was younger. A refuge, according to the sign on the door, where for a fee, one could adopt a new family member. Then, the trip out back, with stern warnings to wash (actually, spread a gelatinous cream) between touchy-feelie sessions. There they are; the orphans, all being as polite (and noisy) as possible, in hopes of getting a better accommodation and meal plan. The poor one that “hurls” when left outside. The one that tends to play beaver around a house. The one that looks ready to head on down the road at the first opportunity. The one that wants to play kissy with everyone (strange behaviour; guess mother didn’t discuss how to deal with strangers).
Finally, we adopted a three-month old babe with white hair and no obvious psychological damage. I am discussing dogs here. One can never be too cautious, given that the wee beastie will have every freedom but a key to the front door.
The choosing of a name is a painful experience, especially since the one most “interested” by the process has no input. If tendencies persist, the new pup on the block will answer (when interested) to the name JAVA.
