It’s been many years since my parents had to put down Ollie III. And then suddenly, the other day, my mom was paging through the local newspaper when she came across a Pet of the Week adoption notice, featuring the guy in the above pic. His name is Buster.
That was it. My mom had to have him.
And that’s when the great barrier was erected. My mom filled out forms that asked ridiculously specific questions, only to be told by the woman in charge that she was too old to adopt Buster.
My mom is a tough chick, and pushed right back. “You’re going to age discriminate against me?” If you know my mom, or withstood being raised by her, you’d know she is not going anywhere anytime soon. And as for her qualifications as a dog owner, she has a home and a yard and 43 years of experience with Cockers. Buster would hit the lottery with her.
So what gives? This might help: I took Ricky to a dog park one day, where there was an adoption event going on. I watched a really sweet family of four fall madly in love with a dog, and then the dog’s foster mom followed the family back to their home to make it official. She returned 20 minutes later with the dog, saying their backyard wasn’t big enough.
What? Aren’t we barraged with pleas for adoption? You can’t watch the Sarah McLachlan commercial all the way through without crying and throwing your wallet at the TV. And yet, foster people think no one is good enough to adopt, and would rather let dogs be euthanized than live in loving homes because their yards are slightly undersized.
Speaking of which, Buster had been homeless in West Virginia, and is now either living in a cage or in Lunatic Foster Woman’s shithole apartment. But if my mom were allowed to adopt him, this would be his new home:
My mom and Buster living together. The “Arrested Development” references alone are worth it. But it looks like it just ain’t gonna happen. It’s not about my mom’s age; it’s a power play. The lunatic foster bitch was going to find some excuse to keep the dog from being adopted no matter what. You know – my mom lives alone. She works. She’d only smother the dog with ten million kisses, and this particular breed requires ten million and one.
To my mom’s credit, she at least went down emptying the chamber, telling the woman, “Fine, I’ll just go get a puppy,” which is like Kryptonite to a foster person.
And you know what, lady? My mom is just crazy enough to do it.
