HUNTING A SNIPER

He was a little boy Gracie. Brown, sleek, tiny, floppy ears, pointy tail... he was Gracie the way she was when I'd first adopted her, little and helpless and adorable... except he was a he. He was obviously the thing that didn't belong in a kennel with 6 or 7 various white fluffy things, and even though we weren't really looking for a puppy we were always looking for a puppy. We didn't normally find ourselves on that side of town but that day I had a doctor's appointment and when we found ourselves on that side of town, the gluttons for punishment that we are, we stopped into the animal shelter just because -- or just in case, I think.

We already had Gracie and Lucy and both could be handfuls in their own way, especially Gracie. She was becoming more than a handful, a fistful, a sackful. She was in trouble, and we didn't really know what to do about it. Often we thought another dog in the household would help... but it had to be just the right dog at just the right time. We found a little boy Gracie, and though I never in my life cared to have matching dogs, it seemed to be the right dog and I guess that made it the right time.

The little boy version of Gracie would be available for adoption the following week with the other 6 or 7 little white things and luckily for our uncertainty in the matter I just happened to have another doctor appointment right before he would go up adoption. And a litter of small breed puppies? We knew there would be a line out the door.

We arrived before the shelter opened to find the hordes already waiting for the raffle. All shelters have their preferred method of handling numerous people interested in one animal… at least this time, unlike with Gracie, it would be dumb luck and not money that would hopefully allow the stars to align for our little man. Announcements were made, drivers licenses handed over to be used as raffle tickets, puppies in a pen behind the counter were introduced... sort of. We still weren't allowed to handle them. We had no idea if any of them were the right dog. Honestly, I'm not even sure we knew it was the right time.

License after license until finally, we were called... fifth. Whispering and plotting we developed our plan... we were there for the boy Gracie, no other, no one else was interesting to us, no one called to us... we weren't even sure it was the right time. We were boy Gracie or bust, if it was meant to be, it was meant to be and if it didn't work out, then we knew he wasn't the one. But as we plotted and planned, we were calmed by the realization that if we were willing to enter a raffle with the knowledge that even though we first had a 1 in 30 chance of being called and then only a 1 in 6 chance of getting the boy Gracie, and we were willing to take that little boy dog home no matter what... then we realized it was the right time. He might not be the right dog, but we were ready. We were open to opening our home to another little creature.

And when the first place raffle winner walked behind the counter and made a beeline for the boy Gracie... we finally knew we were ready, but realized he wasn't the one. Now we just had to figure out a way to get them to call an alternate because we planned to walk. No boy, no deal, we were out the door. And we waited and waited for the opportunity to speak up. We patted ourselves on the back for our new found realization and the excitement of being open to finding the right dog, knowing that when we saw a dog we liked, we were going to let ourselves take it home.

As we waited, and watched and waited... out of the pile of fur in the pen a little black nose made it's way to the edge and after it a little white face with big round black eyes. I elbowed Tag and without a thought... "Actually, can we see that one??" He smiled, "Of course, whatever you want." When we were finally called, when we should have been telling them to call an alternate, when we should have been sticking to the plan and walking out sans boy Gracie... I was instead scooping up the tiniest of all the white things, holding her close and asking all the questions I could think of about temperament and behavior and experiences... all of course to the blank stares of the shelter volunteers. "Do you want her or not??”

I didn't know what to do as my mind, heart and ultimately my conscience went into overdrive.

"What do you think?"

In response, Tag elbowed me and whispered "Tell them we'll take her."

"Do you want her?" the volunteer prodded.

"We should talk about it,” I was trying to be democratic.

Another nudge and a whisper. “Tell them we'll take her."

"Are we sure we're ready?"

"Do you want her?" Impatience was setting in.

Nudge, nudge, whisper "Tell them we'll take her."

"But..."

"Just tell them."

"We'll take her,” I blurted.

She went back in the pen, and I turned to Tag who took my hand and lead me into the office to complete the paperwork. A flurry of activity and emotion and then calls from work to remind me of my guilty absence... but my adrenaline so high, I couldn't care less.

We walked to the car...

"Wasn't she so cuddly and sweet?"

"I don't know, you didn't let me hold her." I thought for sure we had handed her back and forth every time we spoke... but I guess then, as I still do now... I clung to her so tightly, with my hands... and with my heart. The following afternoon, we welcomed into our home the little white thing soon to be known as Piper the Sniper, puppy extraordinaire and the right dog at exactly the right time.