I took Lola the amazing Chihuahua-mix to Animal Rescue of New Orleans over the weekend for a medical check. It turns out she's a miniature Pinscher and that she's about three years old.
She received a clean bill of health--she doesn't even have heartworms, which the ARNO staff said meant she must have belonged to someone recently. She now has all of her shots and is up-to-date on her flea and heartworm meds. I do believe that she may be in better health than my golden retriever. And little dogs live a looooong time, don't they?
K and I discussed it Friday night and agreed that we do NOT want another dog. So, I went into ARNO on Saturday, full of firm resolve to tell them that I simply cannot keep another dog. Especially one that eats porch furniture cushions and Little Mermaid dolls, digs holes, isn't housebroken and barks a lot. But then Lola started trembling the minute we walked into the clinic, and my resolve crumbled a little bit. And then when we got home, E was so excited to see her that she carried her around the backyard for about an hour, saying "I love you, Lola. It's okay that you ate Ariel."
So, it appears that I am now the somewhat-reluctant owner--or at least foster mother--of a non-housebroken, pillow-chewing, hole-digging, barks-a-lot dog. Sigh.
Min-pin, anyone? Did I mention that she's very good with children?