In which we return Serge

Well we've had an awful day.

Yesterday, I went to a dog adoption event, hoping to meet SERGE, a 10-year-old black spaniel mix with "good senior spaniel energy." He sounded perfect -- he was listed by the dog adoption group as being a quiet dog who enjoyed walks and didn't mind cats. He was mellow, too, which I thought was important for Babycakes.

The problem is, that after I read the ad, I started thinking of Serge as OUR DOG, and I couldn't wait to bring him home and integrate him into our family. By the time Serge wandered up to the adoption event, as I stood there with Babycakes in the stroller, I was in a FROTH, ready to adopt him. After exchanging a few words with his foster mom, who said she takes him on walks as long as 45 minutes, I handed over a gangsta roll of $180 to the adoption coordinator and arranged for his foster mom to drop Serge off.

About 10 seconds after he arrived at my home, my error was apparent. Serge wasn't just hard of hearing, as listed in his ad. Serge was deaf. And Serge was almost blind. And Serge had seizures, and... well, Serge is just a very old dog. He's way older than 10. I could see this now that he was in our house.

But I soldiered on, and thought, well, the AD said that he had a few good years in him, and it also said he's got that "good senior spaniel energy" so who cares! We'll teach him sign language and he'll watch us with his one "good" eye and we'll give him treats and Babycakes will rest her wee head on his chest and he'll have an excellent last few years living with our family. Who cares that I have to give him medication twice a day for his eyes and his ears -- he deserves an excellent home after all the old guy's been through.

This morning, I woke up and found he had pooped on the kitchen floor. But that's OK! He's old and he's confused in a new house, and it was on the laminate flooring and so I cleaned it up, plus I hosed off the rug he had peed on. "All part of dog ownership!" I thought, although I was starting to resent Serge in a totally unfair way.

Babycakes woke up and I plopped her in her backpack carrier, clipped a leash on Serge (...once I tracked him down. He doesn't come when he's called after all...) and we hit the road. Our first real family WALK! Here we go! Just like the ad said -- that he "loves his walks" and the foster mom saying that she walked him for "45 minutes" -- let's go! And so we strolled down to the end of the block, albeit slowly, and it was a beautiful morning, and nice woman stopped to pat Serge's head and all seemed well.

Then I turned around and headed home after about, oh, 8-9 minutes. And Serge was not really moving anymore. OK, that's not fair, he was moving. He was trying so hard to keep up, but he was slower and slower. He has short little legs and he's struggling to just see the path ahead of him, and I was trying not to PULL on the leash but Babycakes started to fuss in the backpack because Serge was stopping to rest every 5-10 feet, and, well, Serge DOESN'T LIKE WALKS, it seems. I mean, he really just wants to sleep at people's feet all day long, I guess. And, well, he also doesn't like dog food, so he kind of ignored the food I set out for him, and followed me around all morning trying to get me to pour him a bowl of cereal or something, except he was slipping sadly on the kitchen floor while he followed me, and then I banged my ankle in the back door trying to get him interested in the glorious dog food I had set out there for him, and, well, things were kind of spiraling out of control.

I had wanted a mellow dog, and I got a dying dog. I didn't understand the situation because I didn't look closely at him at the adoption event: Serge is sick and old, not a calm dog with "good senior spaniel energy."

So I called Serge's foster mom this morning and asked her to come get him. And I felt like the world's biggest JERK. All Serge needed was a nice place to spend his final time on earth and I was kicking him out. But we have a baby and this would be our first dog and we are a HIGH ENERGY FAMILY, as it turns out. We were all incompatible with each other, and it was the saddest thing. The sadness I feel today seems like the sadness I had when Mega-T the cat died last October. Oh so sad, watching Serge leave the house.

Hub-D tried to salvage the situation, even after I called the foster mom, because we just didn't want it all to be as sad as it was. We wanted to take care of Serge, even though we noticed that he smelled kind of strong. There was so much good about the dog, we just wanted it to work so bad! He tried to take Serge for another walk, just in case the morning walk was an anomaly, but Serge didn't get even half as far. And Babycakes was nice and sweet, and she tried to follow him and put her face up next to his, and he just kept backing away with a blank expression on his face.

The dog rescue group apparently named him "Serge" because he would "surge" on the leash when he went out for walks.

What in the WORLD? This dog was so reluctant to go anywhere. I wonder if he had deteriorated just in the last few weeks and they hadn't noticed the way we did. But anyway, we are so sad. Sad, most of all, for Serge. And sad that we thought we'd found OUR dog, and sad that Serge was not that dog.

But ultimately, Serge wasn't broken up about the whole thing. It's like he knew it wasn't going to work before I did. He walked out of the house and didn't look back. Not even with his "good" eye.

God bless you Serge, and good luck!