It is a truth universally acknowledged that a farmer at a football game with a puppy in tow must be in want of a new owner for said puppy.
Eat your heart out, Jane Austen. (Clearly, the hiatus from writing has not been good for my creativity. My apologies.)
True story: at our son’s last football game of the season, I spotted a couple holding an adorable black and white puppy in their arms.
Now, here’s the thing. I don’t like dogs. I LOVE dogs. I love dogs like some people love babies. I turn into a squealing coochy-coochy-coo WHO’S A GOOD BOY? YOU’RE A GOOD BOY! mess of a human that immediately makes anybody within a ten-mile radius embarrassed to be near me.
MYNDI. LOVES. DOGS.
So basically what this couple was holding was a tiny, wet-nosed, floppy-eared tractor beam that pulled me in like a moth to the flame.
They see me coming a mile away and before the words, “Cute puppy!” are out of my mouth, Mr. Farmer says, “Would you like to hold her?”
I would like to say that I calmly walked to them and gently took the puppy from his arms, but the truth is I all but pole-vaulted over the fence and snatched the puppy away from him like Gollum finding the One Ring. We wants it, my preciousssssssssss…..
OH, MY GOD, SHE WAS SO SOFT. AND WARM. AND SWEET. AND FLUFFY. AND BASICALLY ALL THAT IS GOOD AND PERFECT IN THE WORLD.
“Would you like to take her home?” Mr. Farmer asks.
*cue the Hubster’s groan*
“Are you serious?” I ask, trying to be chill, but inwardly freaking the heck out.
“Yeah. Trying to find her a good home.”
I glance at the Hubster. I can tell by the expression on his face he’s already conceded defeat.
Me: “We’ll take her.” Whispers in her ear, “Come along, Pond.”
And that is the story of how Amelia Pond came home with us after our son’s last football game. It’s been five months since she became my shadow, and she is still just the perfect little gal.
Sorry, Doctor, this companion’s mine.