So, remember the post a few weeks ago about the dog that we inherited?
Well, Walter, as he is now named (lovingly after the children's book, Walter the Farting Dog), is now a part of our animal family. While he doesn't get to go on chore rides with Sadie (our other dog, if you have forgotten) and Joe, because he likes to take off like a bandit when he spots something, and Joe would spend the entire time chasing, he is a part of our lives now...collared, tagged, and played with heavily by the girls.
However, last night, we couldn't find him.
A few weeks ago when our "hobo dog" (I picture him with a bindle) showed up, I wouldn't have batted an eye at him shoving off to another locale. I would have thanked him for his time, wished him well, and tied up his doggie bindle.
But last night, when he didn't greet us as we came home from our small group, nor did he come to Joe when he called him in at night, we started to worry. We, as in me, and me as in, "WHO IN THE HECK AM I??" Didn't I find this dog to be another mouth to feed, poop to scoop, etc., just a few short weeks ago?
Well, as I walked out this morning to run, and he didn't greet me, I knew I would be in for a tough conversation with the girls that morning. As I drove home from meeting my running partner, I started to think of possible talking points...I wasn't going to paint an unrealistic hobo-esque dog story, nor was I going to speculate he was possibly dead somewhere...I didn't know what to say to my sweet girls who love to play with this frisky little scamp.
Thankfully, Walter met me at the door of the garage, tail wagging, alive, not on his way, just happy to be with us.
Crisis conversation averted.
I guess I'm turning into an animal lover and a country girl...Who would have thought?!!