This is a long and convoluted tale. I will try to be brief.
The good neighbors mentioned last weekend that they thought they were ready to adopt a dog. This sent K to the internets, checking local humane society websites and rescue organizations. All who can see trouble on the horizon, please raise your hands. I have a friend who used to say, in the vernacular that only someone like him could pull off, "don't trouble trouble, 'til trouble troubles you." K and the humane society website, that's trouble just waiting to trouble me right there.
The inevitable happened. A sick, sad-looking little baby, appearing to be a mix of puffball and wet cat, 14 1/2 years old, heart worm positive, popped up onto the screen.
Next thing I know, we have submitted an adoption application and will be going to meet the little troublemaker at an adopt-a-thon this weekend. All week long, K, usually not an impatient person, kept saying, "This is the longest week ever. Why can't Saturday get here so I can meet Lani?" The dog's name on the website, by the way, was not Lani. That's another way I knew I was in trouble: re-naming a dog is practically like having our home phone number tattooed into its ear. Re-naming = re-homing. Here. Forever.
On Saturday, we loaded into the car and drove across town. I asked one last time, "are you sure about this?" K said, "I have to meet this dog."
We met Lani, and she was not looking for us. She has a pretty sweet foster family situation; I could sense foster failure from all the way across that big, open warehouse. So could K.
As we talked to some of the folks there, they began to tell us about another situation they had been called in on, where there were a number of dogs housed all in outdoor runs. Most of the dogs were long-haired breeds, huskies, Akitas, cold-tolerant dogs. Except for one, a nine-year-old Great Dane who was causing them special heartache. What was going to happen to this poor old girl as the weather turns cold, they asked rhetorically.
K and I looked at each other. She said to me under her breath, "This is why we are here."
I turned to the lady and said, "she will come live with us."
And so she has. The work of angels, right there. A not-so-sad little 14 1/2 year old girl, her keeper and her keeper's sidekick brought us someone we didn't even realize we were missing.