Universe, you are ridiculous
One of the recent bright spots in my chaotic and stressful life: I met my next dog and put in an adoption application for her.
The local humane society will only adopt out animals which have been altered, which my dog was not. So I got to play the waiting game, the hoping her lazy and negligent former owners don't change their minds or finally think to come and look for her at the shelter game, the worrying my adoption application will be rejected game, while the shelter arranged for her spaying.
I got a call today, telling me she had gone in to be spayed this morning.
Oh, and she nicked a man's hand yesterday with one sharp puppy tooth and it broke the skin, which makes it a 'bite', which means the shelter now apparently has to hold her in rabies quarantine for the next ten days, until ... something.
The information was upsetting, worrying, and just another damn thing on a day in a week that could be defined by its collection of misfortunes.
Also, I had been using 'puppy will come home' as an incentive, an inner countdown to Friday, to the weekend, to a holiday, to Christmas to help me get through the week, a glimmering bit of positivity and something to cling to that was mine alone to cherish and worry about. So now Friday involves overtime, the weekend's been cancelled, the holiday has been rained out, and Christmas has been banned by joy-hating dictators who need to be overthrown by a group of rebellious teenagers with attitude and this metaphor has convoluted itself beyond my control.
Balls.
The local humane society will only adopt out animals which have been altered, which my dog was not. So I got to play the waiting game, the hoping her lazy and negligent former owners don't change their minds or finally think to come and look for her at the shelter game, the worrying my adoption application will be rejected game, while the shelter arranged for her spaying.
I got a call today, telling me she had gone in to be spayed this morning.
Oh, and she nicked a man's hand yesterday with one sharp puppy tooth and it broke the skin, which makes it a 'bite', which means the shelter now apparently has to hold her in rabies quarantine for the next ten days, until ... something.
The information was upsetting, worrying, and just another damn thing on a day in a week that could be defined by its collection of misfortunes.
Also, I had been using 'puppy will come home' as an incentive, an inner countdown to Friday, to the weekend, to a holiday, to Christmas to help me get through the week, a glimmering bit of positivity and something to cling to that was mine alone to cherish and worry about. So now Friday involves overtime, the weekend's been cancelled, the holiday has been rained out, and Christmas has been banned by joy-hating dictators who need to be overthrown by a group of rebellious teenagers with attitude and this metaphor has convoluted itself beyond my control.
Balls.