How I Became A Homeowner

Photo credit (thanks, Claudia!)

Ah, Rusty. Another dog I didn't name, another dog from the office parking lot. But this dog changed our lives in more tangible ways.

She looks like a Lab-Rottie mix on the outside. Inside, she's all Lab--gregarious, puts up with anything (including, recently, seven alien puppies climbing all over her), loves to play, especially if it doesn't involve moving from a nice spot in the shade. Super sweet, always. 

She was huge even back then, August 2009, when she'd been on the street for a while. A colleague named her Rusty--no clue why. Maybe he'd always dreamed of having a dog named Rusty. But the dream didn't extend to providing a home for her. 

She couldn't stay in the office--dog poop on a company parking lot doesn't make for good first impressions. A friend and I decided to take her to the local shelter--good-looking dog, youngish (I calculated she'd be around a year old), she'd get adopted before the shelter people could finish processing her entry paperwork.

The shelter people didn't agree. "Can't you take her?" they asked.

"No," said we. "I already have two dogs," I explained, "and I live in a rented house. My landlords are already unhappy about those two."

"I have five dogs," my friend said. "One more and my boyfriend will kick me out of the house."

The shelter employee patted Rusty and got a windmill tail wag in return. "We'll have to put her down."

And so she came home with me. Yes, my landlords weren't happy. A week later, a realtor took us to see the house that would, in a few short months, become our first own home.

Thank you, Rusty.