Shot Through the Heart

September 30, 2010

Sometimes the rubber meets the road in a way that can’t be ignored.

The screech and the smell of rubber, and that moment of panic when you wonder if the wheel will hold or if gravity will fail and fling you out into space doesn’t have to be purely physical; it’s philosophical and emotional as well. My emotional/philosophical rubber met the asphalt in a huge way this evening. It’s up to me to decide if this burning sensation is bad (i.e. road rash) or good.

We’ve been fostering Shooter since Saturday, September 4th. That day, I was upset and worried about my son and his wife. Neither one had found work in over nine months. They were facing eviction and there I was, broke and 1700 miles away, completely helpless, unable to save the day the way the parents always manage to do in movies. Mickey, my ever-so-significant other, was far too logical for me that cloudy Saturday. I wanted to be upset. I wanted to nurse my anxiety. So I got in my van and went down a street I’ve never driven before, and there he was.

Shooter. A little pup. In the road, raising hell. I stopped and several neighbors peered over their fences to tell me that the puppy had been hanging around the neighborhood for several days. No one knew who he belonged to. No one cared. No one had even offered him a meal. So of course he came home with me.

I walked in with the little bundle of sweetness and told Mickey that I had found him. Of course Mickey was as sure as I was that the pup had to stay with us until another home could be found. I wonder if either of us would have been so sure had we been able to see into the very near future.

Shooter ate everything. He shit everywhere except for areas that he had already flooded with urine. He terrorized our wonderful lab, Slevin. He ate our underwear. He ate electrical cords. And he “yarked” non-stop. No, it wasn’t a bark; it was that annoying, sharp, constant, Beagle “yark”. Yark. Yark. Yark. Yark. Yark.

Our local Saving Pets at Risk stepped in to help me. They paid for his vetting and Shooter has been staying with us for three weeks while attending SPAR adoption events. Tonight, the call came. Someone is interested in Shooter. It’s now up to me to interview a potential forever dad for this little, maniacal pup.

I’ll interview the young man, of course. And if it’s a case of love at first sight when I take Shooter to meet him, of course I will let Shooter go. But if the amount of tears I’ve shed this evening over this little terror of a spotted pup is any indication, if this potential adopter doesn’t work out Shooter will have to stay with me.

I love him. I adore him. He’s a terrible little shit. He’s a wild man. But I love him past the moon and stars.

The adoption fee is only $95. Looking at my teary face tonight, Mickey assured me that we’d find a way to come up with that fee if I really can’t part with the little guy.

And I don’t think I can. Really, I don’t.

Shooter Blood-Mills. Wild man. Hell on wheels. My angel.

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One Response to “Shot Through the Heart”

  1. AngieK Says:

    ((huge hugs))

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