I can’t tell you about LB dying, not yet. Let’s just say it effectively broke my heart. I didn’t realize how much I depended on him for companionship and entertainment. And pure, uncomplicated love.

Ok, that little bit already has me crying so let’s move on.

After a few weeks of people gently (and not so gently) pushing me to get another dog, I started half-heartedly searching. Because the fact of the matter was, I was miserable. And I hate to throw away leftovers. It was either going to be a dog or a pig. And places aren’t as friendly about letting a pig in as they are a dog. I looked on Young Williams page. They’re not far, and they’re well-known for having dogs that are staring hard at the end of the line. I wanted a male pit bull, anywhere from 2-5. He had to be house trained. I didn’t care if he got along with kids or other pets, because I don’t share my space with anybody. He could be an unlucky dog, fixing to change his luck. I really wanted to just walk up to the counter of a shelter and say, “Hi. I’m the answer to your prayers.” But that would be arrogant, so I tried to be cool when I messaged about one of their dogs, a pit mix named Arnie.

Arnie was available for meet and greets on Saturday without an appointment. So I screwed up my courage, sliced up some cheese, and went to meet this guy.
I pulled in and got pretty excited about the people waiting outside. I thought, “Wow! All these people here wanting to adopt dogs! That’s so great!” Turns out, the line was for lost and founds or surrenders. And then I wanted to cry. I strengthened my resolve to make good on my promise to LB that I would find a down-on-his-luck pittie to love.
There was a sign on the door to text that I was there. I did so, keeping my required distance from a mother and daughter nearby. The people inside responded with a link to their application. Pretty standard: do you have other pets, do you have other people in your household, do you have a fence? AT LAST, this guy walks out with a big guy on a leash. He was much bigger than I had anticipated, and was shedding profusely. I knew right away he wasn’t “my” dog, but I had come to meet him, so I took the leash and we set off. It was good just to be around a dog again. Arnie didn’t care about me in the slightest. He was obviously glad to be out and about stretching his legs and smelling the world, but he wasn’t trying to win me over. He did appreciate the cheese bits, though. He was a strong puller, but we made our way back to the doors where a young guy leaned against a concrete pillar. Arnie went and leaned against him, which, I will admit, hurt me more than it should have. The guy bent to scratch Arnie behind his ears. “Are you getting him?” He asked me. “No, we didn’t hit it off. He seems to like, you, though. You might give him a try.” He told me he was looking for something smaller. I handed the rainbow leash to the girl working.
“How’d it go?” She asked me.
I hesitated. “Well, honestly, he couldn’t care less.”
“Arnie!” She admonished, leaning over. “You have to sell yourself! We can’t do it all!”
We giggled a bit and I just told her what I had observed. She nodded sagely. “Unfortunately, that is a by-product of dogs that spend a lot of time in and out of shelters. They just become indifferent.”
I nodded my understanding. “Survival mechanism, no doubt. I don’t blame them.”
We exchanged rueful smiles and I drove back home, blinking back tears.

I began my search in earnest, then. I had seen enough in an hour’s time to know that I was being selfish and had wallowed in misery long enough. Too many desperate dogs out there and I had love and means to care for one. Several friends hunted with me and sent me link after link, screenshot after screenshot. My closest buddies were all in this with me and I was so thankful for their support and unfaltering confidence that I was ready, whether I knew it or not. I sat in the Lowe’s parking lot for a time, pouring over the dogs sent my way. I found something I didn’t like about every one of them, which, in my mind, meant that I didn’t really want one bad enough. I sighed.

When I got home I stumbled upon a guy who was in Johnson City. He had the misfortune of being named Bob, but he looked like a lot of fun. I needed fun. I emailed through the Petfinder app but then I got ants in my pants and decided to Facebook message the shelter directly. Maybe I would get a quicker reply for more information about his age and heartworm history. Wonder of wonders, they immediately answered me. He was around six and on heartworm preventative. I told the person I was on my way, see them in two hours, and she was like, “Whoa, whoa, whoa. You gotta fill out an application first, and once it is approved, we can make an appointment.” And that is when my balloon deflated. I wouldn’t get to meet him today for sure. I was already cutting it close if I had left right then. So I filled out their app and got approval within an hour. I decided to wait till the following Sunday to meet him, since I would already be halfway there, visiting a friend in Greeneville, and plus, that way I wouldn’t have to worry about what to do with him while I was away from home for the Apple Festival. I selfishly prayed that no one would adopt him before my appointment.

Sunday finally came. I pulled up to a sparkling new, sprawling facility. I was impressed right away. This would go off without a hitch, I was sure.
I was shown to a meeting room and took a seat on the floor. Through the glass, I could hear a full range of dog voices. It would be hard to get any rest here if you were a dog. It was clean, though.

Finally, a guy brought him in, with an explanation of his tail being bent. I was less worried about his crooked tail and way more concerned with the urine that he was projecting all over the floor as he did zoomies.
“Uh, he’s peeing everywhere….isn’t he housebroken?” The ad on Petfinder said he was, but besides that, they had a sign on the wall to let a staff member know if they had an accident so they could clean it up before it stained the concrete.
The guy kinda shrugged.
“Is there anyone here that would know for sure?”
“Not really….” he said evasively.
“When was the last time he was walked? Maybe I should take him out.”
“Well, it’s feeding time right now, so he’s probably upset about missing that.”
And that’s when little veins inside my head exploded. Why would they schedule my appointment during feeding time? “So….how long has it been since he was walked?” I asked again.
“Uhhhh….maybe an hour? Hour and a half?”
“That doesn’t explain the peeing all over everything now.”
He looked at me blankly.
Two girls walked down the hallway.
“Uhhh…maybe they would know.”
“So are you gonna go ask them?”
He gave me a long glance, like I was going to steal this dog, and reluctantly went out the door. Bob clearly liked him, as he watched him go and sat by the door most of the time he was gone. Bob was playful and friendly, but he also had something going on with his eyelid. I had noticed it on his intake pictures from several months ago. They evidently weren’t as concerned with it as they were his bent tail.

A few minutes later Mr. IQ rejoins us with a clearly rehearsed little speech about sometimes dogs that are in shelters for a while forget their training and revert to messing in their kennel. That makes sense, especially if they haphazardly schedule visits during meal and recreation time. Oh well. As I mulled this over, he peed some more. Not like cocking his leg, more like a puppy dribbling from excitement. This would not do.
“Do you have any other dogs I could see that ARE housetrained?”
The blank stare. I decided to supply him with a name. “How about Dozer? I looked at him online, too.”
“Oh, Dozer is absolutely NOT trained. His kennel is always a mess.” Finally, something he was an authority on. I waited.
“Well, do you have any others? I’m looking for a male pit, that’s out of puppyhood but no older than seven. It doesn’t matter if he hates other pets or people, I live alone.”
He stares into space, pushing his glasses up his nose and breathing through his mouth. “All our other dogs are pretty energetic…” he says.
“Okaaaaay….I’m not opposed to hyper, but I AM opposed to a dog that can’t hold his bladder.” I’m wondering if this guy is majoring in customer service.
After a moment to process this, “I might have one…maybe two.” He’s counting on his fingers.
I wait.
“Uhhh…..lemme go ask.” He holds up a finger. Bob and I look at each other after he goes out again.
“Sorry, Bob,” I tell him.
Bob doesn’t care. He takes another treat from me as we both watch the door expectantly.
Finally the dude returns.
“Okay, so we’ve got three…the first one is about three years old we think and she’s-“
“No females, remember?”
“Oh yeah……”
Nothing follows this.
“And the other two???” I prompt.
I don’t think he even elaborated on them, but at this point, I was so frustrated I wouldn’t have adopted a dog from them if they were the only place in the hemisphere with dogs.
“So, how does Bob do riding in a car? Not only would we have a long drive home today, but I’d be taking him to work and he needs to be able to ride without acting crazy.”
“I really don’t have any idea,” he says truthfully.
I emit my final sigh. “Of course you don’t,” I mutter, looking at Bob with pity. I was more than slightly irritated they weren’t more prepared for my visit since I had already expressed my concern in the email when I made the appointment. “Well, good luck. I may come back for him if I can’t find one I like in a week or two.”
“Okay,” he says, turning to lead Bob away, his tail wagging joyfully.
Bob chose that moment to jump up on the guy, front paws landing expertly on his crotch.
Guy immediately falls to his knees, instantly turning green before he turns his head away from me.
I smiled like the Grinch stealing Christmas.
“On second thought, may be Bob IS the dog for me,” I marvel thoughtfully, rubbing my chin and trying not to laugh demonically.
It took the guy a good ten minutes to recover. I would have felt sorry for him if he hadn’t been so indolent.
At least the facility was clean and the single dog I met was happy, but this was a disappointment, to say the least.
This entire visit could have gone much differently. They could have let me walk the kennel, maybe a dog would have stood out to me. You never can tell. They could have told me Bob would be seen by a vet about his eye or dribbling (a symptom of UTI in adult dogs) and they could email me with an update. In my application, I mentioned that Bob would be going to work with me regularly and so it would be beneficial if he could ride in a car. They didn’t do their homework to place this dog. And even if they didn’t have anybody to run him down the road or out on a few errands, they could have offered to let me take him for a spin. They didn’t even offer to let me walk him–inside or out.
As I let myself out (seeing as how none of the three workers clustered around a computer could be bothered to unlock the door for me), there was a mother and daughter trying to get in to see kittens. I asked if they had an appointment. They didn’t and I told them that was the only way they would be permitted entry. They turned away.
I came home, slept on it, and then wrote an email the next day to the shelter manager (who made my appointment. There was no email for the director or a board on the website, astoundingly) detailing my experience, and ending with this:
“I know that funds are limited. I know that is nearly impossible to find people to volunteer that have more than a pulse. But I also expected someone to be on hand that could answer my questions. I’m also concerned about his eye, It is leaking at the eyelid, and has been since the pictures taken of him this spring. Has this been looked at? Let me stress, I am not looking for the perfect shelter dog. But I am looking for a dog that can hold his bladder, and if he does have health problems, you all are aware and have a cost estimate to have him treated. I wouldn’t mind having him seen for a UTI, that’s easily medicated. I would have liked the opportunity to spend a little time with him away from the employee and in my vehicle. I would have gladly left my credit card for collateral. It’s not like I’m fifteen minutes down the road if it doesn’t work out. Dogs are a commitment, and I like to think if everyone were conscientious, dogs wouldn’t be constantly moved from shelter to shelter, or put in a shelter at all. 
I have looked over your Facebook page last week and noticed that you have several dogs that have been there for YEARS. While I am thankful you don’t appear to euthanize, it seems that your employees aren’t really trying to place these animals. They need to have some knowledge, or at least have somebody there to step in when it’s a situation like mine. There were people being turned away that wanted to look simply because they didn’t have an appointment, but I observed several employees grouped together on my way out. The problem doesn’t seem to be lack of staff, it seems to be lack of knowledge and gumption. I found it hard to believe I wasn’t offered a chance to even look at the rest of the dogs, and that I was immediately judged on my criteria of “housebroken male pit” that I didn’t want a hyper dog. What good did an appointment do when I wasn’t allowed to take him outside, or away, or get any of my questions answered? Sure, the application weeds out a lot of people that don’t have the means to have a pet, but what’s wrong with letting them fill one out outside before they come in? If they won’t take the five minutes to do that, then they probably aren’t serious about adopting in the first place. I understand about restricting visitors due to Covid. But what about letting one in each room and one in the kennel? Limit it to one adult and one child together at a time.These are just suggestions that I have seen working for shelters closer to home. You can, of course, implement a procedure that fits your needs. But it seems with all the space and staff you have you could absolutely let more people visit.   Overall, I am disappointed in the way the shelter appears to be run and I am heartbroken that Bob missed a ticket out due to the inadequacies of staff. I hope that you can forward my email to a board or the local government and possibly make a difference in the lives of shelter pets.“
I never received a reply.

Back to the drawing board. I reset my filters to include dogs more than a hundred miles out.
And there he was.
A beautiful male red nosed pit, red with a white chest scattered with speckles. He was three, and it said he needed to warm up to strangers. Best in a home with no other dogs. Perfect.

In Charlotte, North Carolina. A mere 210 miles away. Four and a half hours. And they only did local adoptions.
“Well, we’ll see about that,” I thought, and began typing out yet another email. Third time’s a charm, right?
I tried to address their concerns about me being out of town, offering to have an accredited adoption agency or the Humane Society complete my home visit. I emphasized my pit bull experience, and what LB’s life was like. I went ahead and included my vet’s information so they could call and check on that.
I had anxiety the rest of the day and the entire next day while I waited on word. Hearing nothing, I began to harass my new friend, who has strong ties to the world of rescue. She advised me to be patient, as most rescue groups are run by volunteers who work full-time jobs.
Patience is a virtue, and one that I’ve been working on for many years. I’m ashamed to say I’ve only gotten more impatient. Please don’t pray for this to change, because if you pray for patience, God sends you trials to practice on. I’m not interested in any additional practice.
So anyway, around nine o’clock that night I decided to check my google email, just in case I’d accidentally cleared the notification. There definitely hadn’t been anything through Yahoo.
And there it was. The adoption agency had emailed me around 10:30 that morning, wishing to speak with me in the evening.
I cussed and immediately emailed her back that I was just now seeing it, I was so sorry, and of course I was available to talk from 8 am to 8 pm.
And then I commenced to banging my head on the wall because I’m a flake and had turned my Gmail notifications off for some stupid reason that I can’t remember now. I sent them a message on their Facebook page as well, just in case they saw it there first.
Nothing.
The next afternoon, I was downstairs hanging curtains in my laundry room because now I have neighbors and I’m not always appropriately dressed while doing laundry. My phone began to ring. Upstairs. I made a mad dash for it. A North Carolina number.
“This is Amy,” I gasp. A fine first impression I make.
“Hi Amy, this is S- from CTCD. Is this a good time?”
“Yes, I’m sorry I’m out of breath, I was downstairs.”
“Ok. Well, I just wanted to talk to you for a few minutes. I got your email and it gave me pause. We don’t typically do out-of-town adoptions, but you just had a way of speaking to me….”
I tried not to gloat. Another one bites the dust.
So we start to talk about Holden. He evidently had an incident where he bit someone who came into the house while the family was out.
I stay silent, waiting on the rest of it.
“I just wanted you to be aware that he has a bite on his record,” she said, clearing her throat.
“I’m just waiting on the rest of it,” I replied.
“Well, that was it.”
“I don’t have anyone that would be coming in when I wasn’t here. If anything, that just makes me want him more.”
“Well, just so that you’re aware, if you’ve got someone coming in to do home repairs you would need to crate him.”
“Gotcha,” I say, crossing my fingers that she’s going to say ‘When can you come meet him?’
We discuss my house, my fence, my schedule, and my previous dogs. And then I got to ask some questions. I was concerned about food allergies, of which he has none, and of course the dreaded heartworms. She consults her chart.
“He was successfully treated for heartworms,” she tells me, and my stomach drops.
But everything else sounded just right so maybe it won’t affect him like LB’s ultimately did. She tells me she’s going to speak to the director and let me know. She says again that it’s highly unusual for out-of-state adoptions to take place but I wasn’t a typical candidate, either.
I thought, “Lady, you have NO IDEA.”
I kind of thought I would hear something that night, but I didn’t, and I didn’t the next day, either. It was all I could do not to gnaw off my fingernails.
In the meantime, I bought a new leash, harness, two dog beds, and toys. I drove all of my close friends completely bonkers, including my new rescue pal. I’m sure they were praying just as hard as me that I would get the dog. I sorta have a one track mind when it comes to stuff I want. I likened this whole experience to online dating. Not sure which is worse, as I have no experience with meeting men online, but this was pretty awful.
Finally, I couldn’t stand it anymore and emailed her the following day to check if there were any updates. She finally answered me late that afternoon to fill out an application. Which I had already tried TWICE to do, on my own before they could ask, but the link was broken. Finally got it on my iPad and WOW. What an application. They are exceedingly thorough. Among other things, I had to list every pet I ever had with details about them. Thankfully, I didn’t have to submit a blood sample or my tax records for the last five years. But I probably would have agreed to it. That’s how badly I wanted that dog.
At the end, there was a big box for comments.
And this is where I shine.
So I typed, “Rambo, listed above, was my Saddlebred horse. I owned and showed him for seven years. He got into a nest of copperheads and swelled intensely and immediately. He was put down on site. I grew up on what is commonly referred to as a “gentleman’s farm”. We had a little bit of everything. Horses, cattle, sheep, dogs, cats, rabbits, reptiles, and I had a couple of hamsters. On a farm you learn a lot- about growth and paybacks, hard work and late nights, cancelled plans, emergency health care, budgeting and loss, breeding and birth, and ultimately death. The animals listed above weren’t just farm animals, they were my dearest pets, the ones that I still cry about when I think of them or see their pictures. All are buried here, except LB (Lightning). He resides on my dresser in a custom cherry box. I can provide pictures of any of these animals and also a list of at least twenty people who will vouch for my morals and standards, personality, and the fact that I’m not one to have a crazy big social life. Every one of these animals was treated and cared for at least annually by Seymour Vet Clinic, with the exception of Lightning. He was technically my ex-husband’s dog until two years ago when we divorced and he left his dogs with me. He moved to a place that he couldn’t take them. Sugar, the female pit, was already being treated for mammary cancer and was euthanized a couple of months later, per my former husband’s direction. It has just been LB & I for two years. I took him everywhere with me, including a nine hour drive to the Outer Banks in August. If my dog couldn’t go, then I didn’t go, either. I have been planning a trip to Memphis this spring and have already looked into places Holden will be permitted. The Peabody welcomes him, but not the Guesthouse at Graceland. I do not take pet ownership lightly. I believe if more people were conscientious and honest with themselves there wouldn’t be as many pets in shelters. I don’t have children, children are not welcome in my home. I don’t date men who have children. This probably makes me sound like a grumpy old woman, and perhaps I am. But I’ve never been able to tolerate them. This is the first time since I was six years old I have been without the company of a dog. I am quite lonesome and at loose ends. I don’t know how to BE, I don’t know what to do with my last bite of food, and I don’t have anything to look after or talk to besides some plants. I lead a pretty mild existence. I have a county government job, I serve on both the local and regional library boards, and I have a little hobby of writing on the side. I have an associate’s degree in agriculture. I worked for the local Co-op for thirteen years, during which time I broadened my knowledge of animal nutrition and health by attending various conferences and trainings all over the US. I cannot imagine you will find a better home for Holden if you searched the remainder of his lifetime. I don’t mind that he’s aggressive towards strangers, that’s most definitely a plus in my book. I have experience with grumpy pit bulls. I don’t throw big parties and I will absolutely keep him restrained in public settings. I have already bought a harness that I think will fit him and two new dog beds (home and office). Thank you for considering me, especially since I am out of town. Again, I would submit to a home visit from an accredited agency in my area or animal control. Thank you for this comprehensive application and most importantly for your compassion to place animals in the best possible homes. I am serious as a heart attack about this particular dog. Many friends with good intentions have sent me dozens of local dogs in the last couple of weeks, knowing that I am an ideal home for down-on-their-luck pitties. But when I saw Holden, my search was over. I don’t want a family dog, I don’t need to take a dog that’s super laid back out of the shelter when my needs are just as specific as a hard-to-place pit. I want Holden. And he needs me.”
I figured if that didn’t make them cry and call me begging to take this dog, nothing would. I hit submit.
It took me to a page where I could print my application, if I so chose. I don’t have that capability at home because I am too lazy to hook my printer up (that I have had for going on four years). But I was reviewing the document just the same when I noticed that the comment box was blank. BLANK. No heart-wrenching words.
I broke out in a cold sweat and immediately emailed the girl I had been communicating with that if it was blank on their end to please let me know, I’d had a lot to say. Then I got the email that my application would be reviewed from another person so I decided to just go ahead and re-type it as best as I could remember and sent it to both of them. I am aware I am crazy. But crazy gets things accomplished, and S- emailed me back with a smiley face that she had sent it on to the powers that be.
Three days later, I get an email from yet another person at the agency introducing herself and outlining the steps in their adoption process. This felt a little backwards, but at least there was some work being done. Then I get an email from S– that afternoon requesting pictures of my house and fence. I took them the minute I got home and she set up the virtual home tour for that very evening. I had dirty dishes in the sink, my bed was unmade (a sign of my depression, I have determined), and Uncle Dale chose that moment to call for some chore that couldn’t wait.
But it all worked out fine. She says, “Okay, show me around.” It was a little weird showing off my plain ol’ house but we got through it. It took about thirty minutes (including me walking the majority of the fence line and putting my grungy basement on full display. Plus I showed her the EMPTY dog bed). She asked me where his food and water were going to go and obviously the same spot where LB ate, next to the basement door. Kind of a strange question for people who have owned dogs previously, but whatever. All she had to say about anything was, “That’s great,” and “Very good” or some variation of that theme. I showed her the library. “I don’t have a dog bed in here yet, but I’ll get one.” “Of course you will,” she giggled. She asked me why I wanted a dog. I repeated for what felt like the fiftieth time that I hadn’t been WITHOUT a dog since I was six years old, and frankly, I didn’t know what to do with myself. I’m just adrift. “I’m just looking for a companion, someone to hang out with and fill my days. I guess what most people look for in a man, but I’ve already been down that road and I just feel that I’ll be better off with a dog.” She tried not to laugh but didn’t really succeed. She asked me how I planned to keep him away from strangers when I vacationed with him & I explained that I kept LB on a short leash and if anybody approached I told them he wasn’t friendly and I’d never had a problem. She’s like, “Huh. That never works with me. People still come up unless I have him muzzled,” and I said, “Well, I evidently have resting bitch face because it was rare for anybody to even come up.”
That may not be the best thing to say during a dog interview, but leave it to me to say it.
Then she asked me a bunch of the same questions I had answered when I talked to her previously, and on the application. “I know it’s repetitive, but just humor me,” she apologized. No problem. Then at the end of the call, “I just wanted to say I love your dining room table.” OF COURSE YOU DO.
And I felt like the deal got sealed.
Nothing for three days. During this time I made plans to go pick up Holden Saturday and debated having his blanket monogrammed. Around noon on the third day I get a text from yet ANOTHER member of the adoption group grilling me about Crockett, why he was outside. She had spoken with LB’s vet at length and said everything looked great (OF COURSE IT DID, I SPENT A WAR PENSION TO KEEP HIM ALIVE FOR TWO MONTHS AND I SOBBED ON EVERY MEMBER OF THEIR STAFF) but evidently the records at Crockett’s vet had been destroyed since I haven’t used that practice since he died seven years ago. Anyway, I finally wore her down with pictures of Crockett doing his thing in the snow and whatnot so she could see his double coat.
At this point, I updated my resume with “I passed a 100 point inspection and audit with CTCD out of Charlotte in October 2020.” Because this was getting ridiculous.
At 8:30 that night, I get a call from the director herself. She asks me if it was a good time & I’m like, “Anytime is a good time to talk about Holden, I’ve been waiting for this for almost two weeks.” She apologizes, evidentially they had a board member that’s been out of pocket. But I passed all their tests with flying colors. I am expecting a trophy after all this, or at least a certificate, but I guess my prize will be the dog. She wants to talk to me for a few minutes, then bring Holden’s foster mom on. I am all for this plan.
After she grills me some more about my fence and how often Holden will be left out in the elements (she asked if I had surveillance cameras on my property so I could watch him when I wasn’t home) and I finally get a little short and explain, once again that I planned to have Holden with me as the norm, and that if he was “left” he had access out of the weather into my basement. While it doesn’t have an inground swimming pool, it’s not bad digs. ESPECIALLY FOR A DOG.
Then she says, “And S– told you you was highly reactive, right???”
I had the eerie feeling this is what it sounds like when a bomb is dropped. I could practically hear the air whining around the force of it.
“Ummm…..she said he had an incident where he bit someone who came into the house while his family was out…and I didn’t see the problem.”
She then gets all authoritative voiced and goes into NC state laws about three bites and put down, no matter the circumstance, and I’m like, “In Tennessee, if somebody enters my house without my permission, that’s breaking and entering and I EXPECT my dog to do something about it,” and she says, “well, nobody wants a dog that bites,” so I just held my tongue because, again, I DO, under the right circumstances. And being in my house without me being here is definitely grounds for getting your ass eat. Anyway. She’s building. He doesn’t like his foster brother. When he’s in his crate and his doggie brother walks by, he tries to get at him by eating the bars of his crate. Ok, well, I don’t have any other pets sooooo….He doesn’t like puppies. This gave me pause. What kind of adult dog sees puppies as a threat? No matter. I have no puppies. Then she tells me that when he hears something suspicious he has this out of body experience, where he goes into a trance-like state, but barking full-throttle. If his foster mom touches him while he’s out of his mind, he bites her. He BITES his foster mom. The woman who feeds him and plays with him and has had him for several months. And they’re all okay with this. And evidently it’s a pretty severe bite, enough to bring blood. So you just don’t touch him while he’s crazy and let him wind down. That doesn’t sound like a workable plan to me. The latest time he lost his mind she was moving an ottoman and it bumped him and he bit the ottoman.
I am practically breathless absorbing this information. I’M going to be the new person. There won’t be time for him to acclimate to me. So I swallow and say, “I’m sorry, but I’m bowing out.” I can’t have a dog like that. He’s four or five years old and set in his ways at this point. Something is very wrong with this beautiful baby and I can’t fix it. And I’m not saying that if I lived closer I would still have this opinion. I would probably go visit him regularly for several months and then take him home for a trial period. Of course living five hours away this isn’t feasible. I cried. I just knew he was The One. She assured me he was safe with them, they’ve had him for “a very long time” but it concerned me that they might not be safe with HIM. I was so disappointed. And not only that, I was supremely frustrated that I patiently jumped through every one of their hoops and put all my business on display only to have them wait till the eleventh hour to divulge that Holden had some major behavioral issues. She did apologize and say that I should have been told up front. Dang skippy I should have.
So then I say, “Well, do you have any other dogs that would be a good candidate for me since I’ve already passed all your requirements?”
She says she will review their files and talk to the fosters.
At the time I am writing this, it will be two weeks tomorrow and I haven’t heard another word out of them. And of course that’s just fine because y’all know my story has a happy ending, but I am once again astonished by these people that supposedly have the dogs’ best interest at heart and yet, here I sit (for all they know) ready and able to come get one and ZERO follow up.
Well, actually, that’s not true. They called my personal reference the next morning which makes no sense, since I had already declined Holden, but I thought maybe they were lining up another dog. But all she asked her was how long she’d known me and where we’d met (the funeral home hahhahaha But maybe that spoke some of my character). Also, the application says they don’t call your reference unless communication cannot be established with your vet. This doesn’t sit right on many levels with me because what keeps people from jotting down your best friend who would say anything to make you sound better? And they did talk to my vet. I don’t know, sounds like the left hand doesn’t know what the right is doing. I never heard any more from any of them.

I resume my searching on PetFinder. I go back to the dogs I had favorited while I waited to be approved for Holden.
There was the one at the Unicoi County shelter. I had emailed about him, and had gotten a quick response. I went back to read it and refresh my memory. It mainly said he was very big, very energetic, and very strong.
Hmmm.
I gazed at his picture.

They had named him Andre the Giant. They estimated his weight as a “very solid 75#” I mean, that’s not so big, really. As long as he would fit in my car I didn’t see a problem. LB was 72# at his last wellness checkup before he got sick. This feller looked pretty hairy to be a full pit. He almost looked like he was part chocolate lab. Eh, what could it hurt to go look at him? It would be nice to get out and drive. I didn’t think I’d ever been to Unicoi County.
I sent my newly minted (in the face of dog searching drama) friend a message that I had decided to meet this guy next. She’d been through the wringer right with me over the Holden catastrophe. She got all excited. She knows the director there, and said she’d text him the next morning to give him a heads up. Cool. Never hurts to have a connection.
I slept fitfully, aggreived over the loss of a dog that was never mine.

The next morning I visited the website for the shelter and went ahead and filled out an application. I didn’t want any surprises.
I was cramming grapes in my mouth at lunch when my phone rang. The display read, “Unicoi County Animal Shelter,” which was weird enough. Maybe it always shows the name when people call from landlines, but I wouldn’t know. Everybody just texts me if they want a response. I tried to answer around my chicken salad.
“Herrugh?”
“Hey, this is Kevin at the Unicoi County Animal Shelter, is this Amy?”
“Yeshh…I’m sorry, I’m eating lunch.”
“It’s ok, I just wanted to talk to you really quick about Andre and a couple of other dogs we have that you may be interested in. I’ve been reviewing your application and everything looks perfect.”
“Okay, great!” I agree, thinking THIS is how things should have been handled at the Johnson City shelter. THIS is service.
So Kevin starts telling me all about Andre, which, unfortunately, wasn’t that much. He’d been getting calls about him for about a week back in the summer but hadn’t been able to be at the same place as him until this old lady called and said that he and another dog had her trapped inside her house. So Kevin goes and picks the two of them up. No problem, they jumped right in his truck. The female was a Doberman, and she was in heat. Andre was severely underweight. He took them to the vet to have them scanned the next day. No chip. He had them vaccinated and wormed and then waited for owners to come forward. None did, and the female was adopted out. But not Andre.
He got some weight on him and had him neutered and another round of shots and worming.
Nobody took an interest in him. He’s not friendly to other dogs but he likes people, even though he has a big scary bark. He doesn’t pee in his kennel, but he sometimes poos.
Kevin launched right into the description of two other dogs. I took notes, but I already knew they weren’t the dog for me. One was a female and the other was a climber.
He asked me if I could come at twelve, before the shelter opened, because they were having an event and he wanted me to have a little bit of quiet time before all the excitement started. I’m telling you, SERVICE. He also gave me a tip on using my GPS. It was obvious this guy was dedicated and very passionate about the work he does.

In the meantime, I’m ashamed to say, I continued looking. I was not going to make the mistake of putting all my eggs in this dog’s basket like I did with Holden. I found a sweetie in Kentucky I liked the looks of and submitted an application for him. Late Friday evening I got an email from his current owner. She couldn’t keep him for one reason or another. She sent several more pictures. He looked promising. I asked about heartworm history and about two hours later she replies, “I think it would be better if I called you?” Fine by me. She was taking too long to reply to suit me, anyway. I had already told her I would like to meet him the next day after my appointment at the shelter.

She didn’t call me that night or the next morning. I tried not to be too disappointed. Not everybody’s life revolves around me getting a dog, I reminded myself.

And so, on Saturday, which was Halloween no less, I fried some bacon, ate half, and put the rest in a Ziploc bag. And then I drove to the backwoods sticks of East Tennessee. It was a gorgeous drive! I cut across Greeneville and through Tusculum. Just being out to enjoy the valley with all of its farms and vegetable stands, with the backdrop of the mountains in full color, a clear day with fluffy white clouds. Just perfect. And then driving through the Cherokee National Forest along the river was really something special. I must say I enjoyed every mile.
I arrived at the shelter, got out, and stretched. I’d been on the road right at two full hours but, like I said, it was a nice drive. A pair of girls were setting up a table adjacent to the parking lot. I walked over and greeted them and told them I had an appointment with Kevin, but I was early. He had already checked in with them and was due in just a minute or two. True to his word, he pulled up just a few minutes later and jumped out to introduce himself. He had a dog with him and he said he’d get him squared away and bring out Andre. I settled on a bench with my baggie of bacon.
In just a moment, here comes this exuberant chocolate colored dog bounding around the corner, pulling Kevin along. He was sniffing and peeing on all stationary objects with glee. I grinned.
“So, this is Andre,” he says, watching for my reaction.
“He’s not THAT big,” I said, for the first of many times to come. I leaned over and let him smell me.
He booped my nose, tail wagging furiously, and continued on.
He was beautiful.
And he was so, so happy.
Kevin attempted to get him interested in me, but you know how dogs are. Especially dogs that are kept cooped up a lot. He was almost too excited to even care about the bacon.
After a minute or two: “You wanna walk him?”
“Yes!”
“Ok, you can go pretty much wherever. He might have to poop. It’s fine.”
We set off. I determined pretty quickly the road we were on was basically for the Public Works division of the County. I had passed the Highway Department on the way in, and the Water Treatment Plant was just past the shelter. The river ran to the right, and a train sat on tracks up a little incline to our left. Andre was intent on smelling it all. And I was just the one to indulge him.
After he took a dump, he was more intent on listening to me. I got a sit, and he even doubled back to me a few times when I kissed at him. Sure, he had more hair than I really wanted but…I was pretty sure this dog was checking all the boxes.
And let’s face it, I was lonely and tired of driving over hill and dale to find a companion. “Best I can tell, Andre, you’ve just landed yourself a home.” I told him, and gave him a piece of bacon.
He took it so incredibly gently and wagged his tail energetically.
We’d been walking along the train tracks for several minutes and it occurred to me exactly how alone we were. In a strange place. On Halloween. This is how Unsolved Mysteries always started.
“Uhhh, maybe we should head back,” I told my new best friend.
Andre had no complaints.
As we rounded the bend in the road, it looked like every employee they had was out front, awaiting our return. Were they afraid I wouldn’t come back? Are there often murders on this little stretch of road?
“So, we were all discussing the other dogs I wanted you to meet and we collectively decided that Andre is really your best match,” Kevin says to me when we skidded to a stop.
I smiled. “That’s ok, I didn’t want to burst your bubble yesterday but I had no desire to meet them.”
“What’d you think of Andre?”
“I like him a lot.” I made no move to relinquish his leash.
We took each other in, eyes measuring.
Kevin turned to one of the girls. “Get his cape and start his paperwork, he’s going home.”
And that’s the moment I burst into tears.
He looked to another girl. “Do you care to put him in your car and make sure he rides okay for you? Just to the end of the road and back.”
SERVICE.
“Will you put him in the backseat, please? That’s where he’ll be riding.” I handed her his leash.
“Sure!”
“Does he know his name?” I asked the only employee remaining. “Please say no,” I stage whispered.
“No, not really.” I breathed a sigh of relief. “We all just pretty much call them ‘sweetheart’ or ‘baby’ or ‘come here, boy,’, you know.”
We went inside to sign paperwork and I played with some absolutely adorable kittens. It wouldn’t have taken much for me to get one of them, too.
Kevin shared with me some truly alarming statistics about pit bulls in shelters. It’s staggering. In many cities they are euthanized within hours of intake simply because of the sheer numbers of them. Nationwide, they are the most bred dog out there. It makes me sick to think of their demise. Big, scary, slobbery, loving dogs. It’s not their fault. They are so eager to please. They are just too exuberant and too big for some people. But they’re not too big for me.

And so that’s how I finally got a dog.

CHESTER’S JOURNAL, DAY ONE

I GOT MY OWN PERSONAL HUMAN TODAY!!!!! I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO CALL HER MAYBE PRINCESS SPARKLE PANTS I’LL DECIDE LATER SHE SAID THERE WAS MORE BACON.
AND I RODE IN A ROCKET!!!!!
THIS IS THE BEST DAY OF MY ENTIRE LIFE.