CHAPTER FIVE FINDING SAMANTHA—DOUBT COLORS THE DAY (20TH installment, Scruggs and Samantha, by Mary de la Pena)

CHAPTER FIVE

FINDING SAMANTHA—DOUBT COLORS THE DAY

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

Monday morning was a slow time coming.  Saturday took my husband and me away from the city to do a charity function.  But even with the activity swirling around me, Scruggs and Twink were never far from my mind.  Visions of catastrophes danced in my head.  What if there was a paperwork mix-up?  What if I had gotten the wrong collar number off Scruggs’s neck?  What if that irrepressible spirit was snuffed out of existence because I chose to give myself somewhere else?

Sunday was even worse.  I paced and fretted and worried throughout the day.  By Sunday evening I was exhausted from compiling scenarios of disaster.  Finally, peace overtook me.  I decided that whatever happened was God’s plan and I should accept the outcome.  However, I may have gone too far with that particular mental exercise.  In trying to find an internal peace from my anxiety, second thoughts began to intrude. 

Many times when faced with a major event it was my habit to pick at the fabric of the decision to determine whether I should proceed.  Unfortunately, those second thoughts have oftentimes frozen me into inaction.  If I was unable to proceed in haste toward a major change, I turned away at the last moment, afraid the slowing process was God’s way of telling me to stop.  Once I stopped it was very hard for me to gather the courage to go forward again.  Thus, the passage of three days between the time of finding Scruggs and Twink at the pound allowed my trepidation to grow immeasurably.

By Monday morning I was filled with ambivalence.  Adopting an animal was a long-term commitment.  Was it just a passing mood that attracted me to the scruffy dog, or was it something greater, more healing?  Was I unable to find the “right cat” in my earlier searches because I was supposed to be downsizing my animal population?

All these crazy thoughts crowded my overwrought brain as I dressed for work.  Yet, as I chose my suit for the court appearance I had promised to make after my visit to the Humane Society, I elected an older, dark-colored blue, more suited to holding a dirty animal.

I arrived a little past eight-thirty on Monday morning.  The shelter did not open until nine o’clock, but I also knew that the office workers started processing paperwork at 8:45.  I wanted to make sure I was first in line.

Even at that early hour the trucks were arriving with animals picked up from their street sweeps, other people were lined up to surrender animals.  It was the same horrific scene I had faced the week before.  I felt my knees buckle and my resolve falter. 

But, as I waited and paced on the front walkway, watching the unfolding action, I felt a stirring in my psyche.  Steel began to replace my wet-noodle spine.  Lightness filtered through my fears.  I thought of Scruggs—his happy nature, his lolling-tongue smile—and I knew I had to see my decision through to completion.  Scruggs and Twink had to go home with me.  At least two fewer animals were going to die that day.