Choosing Us
If there’s a day I’ll never forget it’s that one.
The ‘Waggy Tails’ shelter was clean and well run.
We arrived, our family, two parents, two kids.
Excited, arguing, chattering, both wanting first dibs.
“We said a small one.” That was me, Dad, trying to keep it real.
“House trained, no excessive moulting, comes to heel,
likes Guinea Pigs, not a killer, eats anything, not a picker.”
Yes, it was tongue-in-cheek, yet encouraged them to bicker.
We were chatting to the profiler. The kids had settled down.
He’d picked a little dog for us. Patchy, black, white and brown.
He was going to introduce us after filling forms and meeting the team.
The kids were mighty impatient, so near to fulfilling their dream.
Then all at once we heard a loud commotion in the corridor.
A kennel hand was squealing, “Catch him!” What a furore!
This monstrosity of fluff came bouncing up, lead dragging on the floor.
I’ve never seen such a grin on a dog or such humongous paws.
He licked us once, whilst thrashing his tail, then licked us all again.
The angst on the kennel hand’s face was a sight as he wailed, “Come on, Ben.”
Well, needless to say, the kids didn’t delay in falling in love right there
with this mountainous mass of unabashed zeal and excessively moulting brown hair.
I had reservations, big ones, it’s true, but also a curious bonding.
To the anguished pleas of the begging kids, I found myself responding.
“We’ll give it a try for a couple of weeks. If it doesn’t work out, he’ll be back.”
I knew in my heart that Ben had picked us and for certain, that was that.