Weakness -- or compassion, perhaps.
A few times over the past months, Herself has stopped by the local pet store on a few Saturday afternoons during which they had adoption events by a local rescue organization. (She thought about attending several more events, but lacked sufficient impetus to do so on those occasions.) She didn't necessarily want another dog; she just wanted to look.
Yesterday, after spending some time perusing the bookstore for a book to send to Offspring the First, she decided to stop in at the adoption event. Just to look.
There was an older, placid chihuahua in the cage at the end of the table. He was calm, untroubled. He was the same color as Tiny Dog, except for his white face and the beginnings of a white stripe down his back.
His name was Pedro, and he was 9-10 years old. He was missing a few teeth on one side, so that his tongue stuck out just a little. The ear on the other side was a bit crumpled. He sat quietly on Herself's lap for a bit.
Herself did not feel a compulsion to adopt him - there was not a burning need to do so, the way she (on extremely rare occasions) knows something must be done.
Still.
After having said goodbye to ottoman-shaped dog, ancient decrepit dog, and venerable cavy within the past year, Herself knows that it is very important for animals to have a person who can walk the final path with them. It seemed like the right thing to do, to make sure this dog would have comfort in his waning years.
Herself brought him home.
We have renamed him Tio.
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