auntbijou | When killing your husband isn't an option...

Okay, so here's the story...

Wiggins was being too rough with the cats. He can't help it. He's a Feist, a Rat Terrier, and he was bred to go after small animals. Cats are small animals (even though all three of our cats are bigger than he is, and will get bigger yet, since they're only 6 months old). I've worked with him on this, but... well, anyway, on with my story...

The decision was made that Wiggins would have to go. After all, the cats were here first. So, I called some rescue groups, and found one that would take him, but... only if I surrendered him to a shelter first and that shelter called them.

???

So, I called the local shelter and asked about this, they said, yes, they were familiar with this group, and they would call them when we surrendered the dog. The Husbandly One was supposed to be the one to do this, because I tell you, I hate taking animals to the pound. I really do, even when it's a stray who would be better off at the pound than on the streets or out in the country to starve. I still hate it. However, they were closed when he went to take Mr. Wiggins after getting home early from work. So... I was chosen to be the designated dropper.

*sigh*

Not that I was happy about this. I wasn't. Because even though Wiggins isn't a good fit with us, for so many other reasons other than just the cat problem, I like him. He's a personable little dog, and I had this sinking feeling if I took him in, they'd just euthanize him. But I did it. Yesterday, I took him in, and he was shaking so hard, and whimpering, and the shelter workers and I looked at each other and we all said at the same time, "He's done this before."

I hated to leave him. But I had to. So, I kissed him, told him I was sure he'd find the right Forever Family for him, told them he needed to go to a home without cats and without kids under the age of ten, and left. It was HORRIBLE.

I had a rotten night's sleep, too.

Happy?

Anyways, so this morning, I'm most decidedly NOT thinking about the dog, and trying to work on writing (which was going terribly, by the way), when my cell rang. It was the Husbandly One. I answer, and he says, "So, I've been doing some thinking and the thing is..."

"Yes?" I said, wondering what was going on.

"I'm feeling REALLY guilty," he says quietly.

I blinked. This REALLY blindsided me. I'm sure y'all are seeing it coming, but I didn't. "Um, why? You didn't buy that flat screen TV you were looking at online after all... did you?"

"No. I called the animal shelter."

*blink* *blink*

"Um... why??"

"Because I can't stand it! I thought about it all night, and I've worried about it all morning. I called the animal shelter, and they said it was okay for you to go pick Wiggins up. I want him back."

*jaw drop*

"You... what??"

"I want Wiggins back."

Yes, I went and got Wiggins back. He was extremely happy to see me, as you can imagine. And rode home in my lap. And when the Husbandly One gets home, I'm still not sure whether to hug him... or box his ears.

*sigh*