I thought the basset issue was over, and we were moving on.
Wrong!
Tom called me from work the next day. "I just hung up from the shelter," he said. "If he's not adopted today, they're putting him down."
Oh no! Don't tell me that. I didn't want him, but I didn't want him euthanized either.
"Okay, I'll go get him. Promise me we'll find him a good home. We're not keeping him."
Tom agreed. (Yeah, right.)
I went to the shelter and adopted him. They brought him to the lobby, handed me the leash, and we left.
Well, he was sooooooo ready to get out of that place. He bolted at top speed when I opened the front door. I was dragged by the big brute until I finally fell and sprawled over the parking lot pavement. My purse flew off my shoulder, and the contents scattered everywhere.
What have I done?
Thankfully, the shelter staff came running outside to help me. They caught the dog and loaded him into my back seat. I wasn't hurt except for a few scrapes and bruises. The staff picked up my belongings. I stuffed them into my purse, and I climbed into the front seat. I took a few deep breaths before starting the car. I thought the worse was over.
Wrong!
(Story to be continued.)