SCRUGGS and SAMANTHA CHAPTER FOUR SURPRISE, YOURSELF!—THE ROTTWEILER GETS ADOPTED (16TH installment, Scruggs and Samantha, by Mary de la Pena)

SCRUGGS and SAMANTHA

CHAPTER FOUR

SURPRISE, YOURSELF!—THE ROTTWEILER GETS ADOPTED

(16^TH installment, Scruggs and Samantha, by Mary de la Pena)

Since telling Prince Charming that I wanted to adopt that scruffy golden dog I named, Scruggs, I found that for the first time in months I felt my heart lighten.  My husband was showing tentative signs of returning to his Prince Charming ways.  He held my hand as we drove to the Pomona Valley Humane Society, and he smiled at me whenever he could take his eyes away from the road.

We arrived at the shelter late in the afternoon.  To my dismay the trucks were arriving with their loads of unwanted dogs, and the intake cages were filled with crying kittens and barking puppies. I had already been through this gauntlet and knew enough to keep my head down and to close my ears to the plaintive whimpers. But my husband was not ready for the onslaught of despair.

I turned to see his face as he passed by the small cages in the front of the office. His eyes widened and his face drained of color. Worse yet, there was a man standing at the desk with a beautiful male Rottweiler. He was speaking to the worker, leaving me to fear he was turning the dog into the shelter. I heard my husband take a deep breath as his step faltered. I grabbed his hand and hurried him past the harried worker and the man with the dog. I didn’t want to know if the dog was destined to become a resident of the “place of no return.” 

Again I traversed the shelter grounds and headed for the large-dog runs.  As I passed by run number 80, I saw a young woman standing next to the Rottweiler I had previously seen.  This time the dog was standing at the cage door, licking the girl’s fingers.  She smiled at my husband and me as we stood at the cage with her.

“I’m getting her,” she said in answer to my unasked question.  “I just brought her a treat to make sure she remembered me.”

“I remember her,” I said.  “I tried to get her to speak to me the other day and she would have none of it.”

“I bribed her,” the girl said.  “You know what scrounge hounds they are.  Rotties can’t resist food.”

I had to laugh.  My own Rottweilers had always worked for treats.  Their training had gone easier when I had snacks in my pocket.

I stepped toward the emaciated dog, but she started to back away.  “See, she has no use for me,” I said.

The girl smiled.  “No, she was meant for me,” she said.  “My husband is outside with Bruno, my other dog.  The shelter says we have to make sure they are compatible before I can take her home.” She offered the dog another piece of biscuit that the Rottweiler took with a grateful sigh.

My husband and I looked at each other, and I could feel the relief course through us as we held hands.

“Good,” I said.  “I am glad she is going to a good home.”

“Oh, yes,” the girl said, “I have had Rottweilers all my life.  They’re the best.  Bruno, my other dog, will be glad to have a companion.”

We all made some clucking noises at each other, and then I pulled on my husband’s hand, anxious to show him Scruggs