Chapter One Hundred Fifty-One: Ma’am, Buddy, and Rumspringa…

The journey in search of a new pup hasn’t been as easy as one may think, as, in my last post, there was a whole Puppy-gate scenario, involving Russians and money after that, I really tried to find a pup through the proper channels.

I joined these adopt a pet websites and like a food order from Uber Eats put it on my wish list. I got daily alerts of dogs that were a good match. At first, for some reason, I was matched with a lot of senior dogs on their last legs. I wondered if this is how the millennials running these websites pictured me. There was Sally who was blind and came with her own oxygen tank(I wondered out loud to Confused Husband if perhaps we could share Sally’s oxygen tank?)
Then there was Oscar, who had wheels for hind legs. I envisioned being allotted a Handicapped Parking pass, and how easy it would be for me to park in the city. Confused Husband was totally against getting Oscar who he pointed out(no pun intended was basically on his last leg.) It wasn’t until I suggested that we may be eligible for a Handicapped parking pass that I saw the wheels(again, no pun intended) turning in Confused Husband’s head. He became enthusiastic about Oscar and gave me the Used car salesman talk of how he could see us with Oscar taking him and his wheels out for a stroll, and he pointed out rather jubilantly having this pass, we could park closer to places because of it, so Oscar wouldn’t have to wheel too far. So he began his research(GOOGLE) into this possibility.

I was growing frustrated by the minute. Of course, these dogs deserved love and a good home, but we had just lost our senior dog and I didn’t wasn’t to go through this again like a week after we got one of these dogs from the look of their pictures and bio. I wanted a younger dog that I could have time with.

My quest for the pooch for our family began and let me tell you, the roller coaster of emotions that followed are exhausting. I filled out forms with essays as to why we would be a good fit for the dog we were interested in. It was more intricate than college or job applications!

I was really trying to sell our family as the PERFECT family for Fido. I had to leave out things like the time Confused Husband picked up the wrong dog from the groomers(I had the inkling they would not have seen the humor in this.) How we fed our last dog pizza, and copious amounts of cheese. Then I was instructed once my application had been sent it would be reviewed by “OUR TEAM”.
If they felt it was a good fit they would contact our references and then if that went well, and they were positive about our references, the next step was a phone interview with me, and if that were successful, then a virtual house tour. Hopefully, if that passed their muster, then we would have a meet and greet with Fido. Next, we would sign the papers, pay the fee, and then take Fido home. Now, this process could take up to a month or more depending on how fast the steps went. If we were fortunate enough to bring Fido home, we would have follow-ups with our adoption counselor. I pointed out to Confused Husband when we adopted one of our daughters we had half the paperwork and it was ten times easier!

I felt like our file was in the hands of a bunch of kids who were sitting in a cube-like hipster place resembling Google Headquarters judging us. It was unnerving. They were picking apart everything I said, and overanalyzing each word every day I waited, sweating like a nun in a cucumber patch for”The Call”. Crickets…

One night, scrolling through my phone without my glasses which were somewhere that I didn’t have the bandwidth to look for this blurry yet ADORABLE face popped up on my phone. I clicked it and when I did I heard a symphony in my head. I scrolled down being able to get the gist of what it said because, without my readers, it is like reading hieroglyphics! I made out the part where the sweet boy was in Pennsylvania. I pictured this little Amish dog with a little black hat and suspenders!
I searched for and finally found my glasses because I HAD to fill out the paperwork for this boy! Clueless next to me, Confused Husband attempting to sleep muttered: “You better not be Amazon shopping!” With verve and truth, I shouted: “Nope!” This was soooo much better! I filled out the application and sent it. I lay there thinking and hoping.

The next morning the owner made contact with me, explaining why they were having to rehome their pup. For the next week, we exchanged emails. Then we decide to meet. I made the choice not to share any of this with Confused Husband just in case it didn’t work out.

The night before I was going to meet the dog, over dinner I broached the subject of perhaps getting a young rehomed dog?

Fervently cutting into his chicken and using his utensils to point with dramatic flair, he began a tangent of: “People only rehome their dogs because the dog is like Cujo!” (OMG! what if my sweet Amish dog was being rehomed because he murdered an entire Amish family by eating them as they slept?! You wouldn’t read about it in the papers since the Amish keep to themselves!”) I begin to sweat. Confused Husband notices and says: “I thought your pills that we pay the equivalent of a mortgage for every month are supposed to help your hot flashes! ” He bellows using his fork like a Maestro conductor. I sheepishly say: “Oh maybe I need a higher dosage?”
He shakes his head, and rants on about: “How we are being ripped off in this country for proper health care, and if we didn’t have to pay for my monthly prescription then we could use that money for vacation instead!”

I am thinking about my secret rendevous tomorrow. What if I am meeting a sex slave trafficker!? I send an email out and tell the guy:” That I am a middle-aged, menopausal woman and I think the dog will help me lose weight by walking every day.” (Hopefully, if he was planning on kidnapping me and selling me to some billionaire who wants a harem I will be out of the running after this!) He responds “Okay…”
It is an extremely ambiguous response! As usual, I can never leave well enough alone so I throw in another email saying:” How we used to have an Amish market nearby and I LOVE the pies and other items! I then go on a diatribe of my love for all things Amish! I ask though how hard is it to live without electricity? I share that I could NEVER live without central air conditioning and ice cubes. I also say that I don’t think I have the face for one of their bonnets that the female Amish need to wear and I can’t use a porta-potty so I don’t think I could ever use an outhouse!”
He responds: “See you tomorrow at noon.”

That night, I cannot sleep. I turn and look at Confused Husband and wonder if this is my last night on earth? He is clueless as to what my plans are. I get up and head into our son’s room. He is up gaming and I give him a giant bear hug and say: “I love you!” (I didn’t want his last memory of me to be of me yelling at him to take out the trash!) He looks at me and says: “What are you being shipped off to war?”

The next morning I wait for everyone to leave. I take out my bag that has been packed (like a movie where the woman is escaping her home with her pre-packed bag, but mine consists of dog treats and a new leash.) I head out to the rendevous point I am SUPER early because I want to scout out all of my possible escape routes in case it is indeed a sex traffic ring and for some reason, they want flabby, sweaty, middle-aged, menopausal women. I wait…
A truck shows up and there is a dog in it. But the dog looks nothing like the picture! It is like a wolf! I am FREAKING out! Do I just drive away? After all, we haven’t exchanged any photos of ourselves, he has no clue what I look like. The guy and the wolf head into a shop. Phew! Can’t be him.
Moments later, another truck appears. Popping his head out the window is the MOST adorable, scruffy, scrumptious boy JUST like the picture! All my apprehensions are gone. I leap out of my car and run towards the truck. The man smiles and gets out of the truck. He takes out the dog and the dog literally jumps into my arms! he licks my face and the man says: “Yup, he likes you!” Perhaps he is Mennonite and not Amish? Maybe he is just a guy from Pennsylvania. Who cares? I found my dog!

I am OVER the moon! We pull out our phones; I electronically sign the adoption papers. The fee is sent to the ASPCA. I get a confirmation! I have legally adopted him!
We head home next to me; the dog sleeps the entire drive back, he is calm, sweet, and lovely; I name him Buddy like Buddy the Elf from the Will Ferrell movie; he is goofy and clumsy like that.

That night the boys get home; they are shocked and smiling all at once. Buddy is; loving, cuddly, and fits into our family; we go out to dinner with Buddy at a local outdoor restaurant to celebrate Buddy joining our family. I suggest maybe we could find Buddy a little black Amish hat? Confused Husband asks: “If I am drunk?” (Okay, maybe put that on the back burner for now.)

When I walk with Buddy, I tell people that Buddy is from Pennsylvania and is on his Rumspringa but staying here forever. I think that adds to Buddy’s back story. To some, I have to explain what Rumspringa is. I have gotten weird looks they scuttle away. I don’t care!
Buddy has helped heal my broken heart after Jack’s passing; I truly believe that Jack somehow orchestrated this.

Buddy and Jack have many similar personality traits, but most of all, they radiate unconditional love.
I promise Confused Husband no more surprises for a while and, well for, now, okay…

Published by

Kat Akcakanat

Wife, Mother, Teacher, Artist, Writer, Friend.

9 thoughts on “Chapter One Hundred Fifty-One: Ma’am, Buddy, and Rumspringa…”

  1. Oh, I love this story—you manage to be hilarious and poignant at the same time and the adoption process is so ridiculous that everyone who’s been through it is thinking, yep, she nailed it. As my mother would say, Buddy fell into a bowl of chicken fat!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Punny, Funny, and who doesn’t love an Amish Dog?!(I won’t ruin it by saying if he is or if he isn’t). Such a fun and sweet story and I’m so happy for you and your new buddy. (Pun intended) PS: Our last dog was also named “Buddy” and he was the best. Sadly, he wasn’t Amish.

    Liked by 1 person

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