Vera is in Flagstaff this evening. Really, my heart is as broken as hers. Ah, the hell with it. Who am I kidding. Vera didn't give two shits about us. Scot and I met Vera on Friday afternoon. Immediately I was a little freaked at her size. She was advertised as a medium dog weighing 40 pounds. But I'm wondering if they've been feeding her at all. The dog is tall, and very long. It's possible with some attention and Kibbles and Bits, this girl is going to be ginormous. Vera's foster parents brought her out to the backyard and let her off the leash. For the next 45 minutes, Scot and I traded innings throwing the ball for Vera. When Scot's arm got tired, I got the ball and threw for a while. When we stopped throwing the ball, Vera jumped on Scot's back. And then she muddied the front of his shirt. It was then I knew that Vera was too much puppy for us. She was more intent on playing ball and looking over the fence then in snuggling up to me. She didn't come when I called her or respond to my pathetic doggy talk. It was kind of like the dumb jocks in high school; good to look at, nice to take out, but not much substance. I knew if I took Vera home, she would choose her ball over me. I'm much too needy for that. I want a dog that grovels and puts their head on my lap. That night, Scot and I decided Vera wasn't right for us. We would keep looking for the second-most perfect dog. Bernice is a darn good girl.
The next day, we headed into town and checked out the other adoptable dogs at Petsmart. Vera was there, back on the market. I felt sad knowing I had gotten so close to being her forever home. Her handler at Petsmart was a young college girl who told us she had fostered Vera a couple of months ago. She said she had Vera a week when she returned home one evening to see all four burners of the stove on, gas flying full-blast. The only one at home was Vera. She figured another couple of minutes and the place would have gone up in smoke. I walked out of Petsmart with a smile on my face. I knew I had made the right choice.
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