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After a trip to Mexico, I decided my baby liked dogs too much not to have one that will play, grow, and be happy with him.
I was set on the ideal dog; it had to be a boy because it felt right, he had to be a puppy so they can grow together, so that he can be playful enough for him, so I can mold him to my liking, and so that the other dogs would accept him. He had to be a small dog because I couldn’t handle a big dog, but most importantly, he had to be adopted.
I tried for about a week to find the “perfect” dog. A part of me had given up on adopting. I was already secretly looking at posts on Craigslist and local puppy stores, but still nothing. The biggest deterrent? The price.
With my heart tired and my emotions exhausted, I decided to try one last time at the shelter before taking a break (read: giving up). There was an event going on at one of our local shelters (the same one I visited for at least an hour a day every day for approximately a week) where they waived adoption fees so all I needed was ten dollars. Ten dollars and I could bring home a new member of our family.
I almost didn’t go that day. I had basically given up at this point. I had checked their website and I hadn’t seen anyone that fit. I felt hopeless. But I went anyway. I walked up and down those kennels, just as I had at least five times before and nothing. All the possible suitors had been adopted. I was on the last section of the pound, and that’s when I saw him.
We bonded almost immediately. I looked at him in his kennel and told my sister and sister in law, “I think I found my dog.” I can’t explain it. I don’t think there are words to describe the tugging in my heart, the feeling of “I found you. I didn’t know I was looking for YOU, but I found you.”
We asked for a meet and greet and handed his info card and my I.D. and took him for a walk around the shelter (the shelter workers said it needed to be at least 15 minutes long). I was so sure of what I was feeling, but I questioned myself, questioned if I was just trying too hard to find someone. Maybe I was settling. Maybe he wouldn’t be a good fit. Maybe I wouldn’t be able to be a good owner for him.
He was not big at all, but bigger than I (thought I) could manage. He was two years old, not a puppy that I can easily mold to my liking. And scariest of all we had no idea if he was good with other dog or even children. BUT (there’s always a but), he and my baby got along right away, I knew my husband would love him, and he just FELT right.
So after at least 30 minutes, I decided: he was not at all what I was looking for, he did not fit into all the categories I had made up in my mind, and yet, he was everything I WANTED. And he has definitely brought so much joy and happiness to our lives. He has been what we needed.
Was he my “ideal” dog? No. But if you ask anyone, they will tell you Max is my dog, my big ol’ goof. He was (pretty much) made just for me. And I’m happy he found us.