Nyquil Dreams

I was sick with a cold for most of the week, so for three straight nights I took that glorious green liquid known as: Nyquil. I slept like a rock, but in exchange I had to endure a lot of very strange dreams. One night, I dreamt that we lost our home. Wait, it gets better. P and I were trying to move into an apartment and were filling out some paperwork to that end. We sat on one side of a beige metal desk while a middle-aged man (who was actually, oddly enough, one of the dog trainers from "Dog Town," one of my favorite shows on the National Geographic channel) sat on the other side.

He scanned our paperwork and then looked up at me. "Mrs. M, you didn't fill in your weight right here." He pointed at the blank line where my weight should go. I shook my head to indicate that I would not be divulging that information. "Well, you can't move in if you don't fill in your weight."

"Then I guess . . . " I replied, " . . . we'll be homeless."

Nice to know that my sub-conscious mind would subject my family to life on the streets rather than reveal my weight. My conscious self probably would have balked at it, too, though.

Other than that, it's been an uneventful week. Boxer Rescue has been very busy. We have lots of new dogs coming in (thanks, suck-ass economy!) but we've also had a lot of placements. I do the paperwork when a dog gets adopted, so that's kept me hopping for the past few days.

Tomorrow, I am taking Fritz-a-Million, my foster dog, to a pet expo in hopes of generating a little interest in him. The rescue has a booth at the expo. He really is a very nice dog; he's just a tough placement because of his age. Honestly though, if I didn't know how old he is (nine), I wouldn't think he was any older than six. I just have to think there is someone out there who would enjoy a nice, easygoing companion. I've only noticed one bad habit with him: when A and I are playing tag in the house, Fritz sometimes runs after me and nips my ankles. I'll stop and say, "What are doing, old man?" and he'll look at me and explain that he just had an out-of-body experience for a second there.

I've been attending these pet expos for the past nine years and I have to confess that I never really get any better at it. I try to leave the whole "chatting with the public" thing for other volunteers who are more qualified. If you ever go to a pet expo, here are a couple of things not to say:
  • "He must smell my dog." He probably does but after the 99th time someone has said it, we just run out of responses.
  • "I'd take you home right now except for A, B, or C." Believe me, we know you would love to take the dog home. It's just that it doesn't make us feel any better about the dog's plight to know that you won't be taking him home.

What should you say, then? Well, the rescue volunteers really do enjoy chatting with people about Boxers and rescue and all that good stuff. Throw a buck in the donation jar, ask us about our adventures in fostering, or tell us about your own dog. You could bring a treat or two for the foster dogs in attendance. Or, better yet, you could bring me a treat. It's all good.