I started to think that maybe we shouldn’t get a dog after all.  What if we got one that was mean or stubborn or destructive?  What if it made our lives more stressful, became a burden rather than being a joy?

One day, I was on my way to the thrift store Savers and while I was stopped at a light, I noticed a dog in someone’s front yard (loose and alone, on a very busy street, no people around).  It was dragging something, clutching it in its mouth and pulling it around the little yard.  My first reaction was “Why is no one watching this dog?”, then “What’s that in its mouth?”  The light changed and as I got closer, I realized that it was a dead squirrel, and that there was another on the ground, a smear of red across its back.  I wondered if this was an omen, that my worries about my future dog being Cujo were not groundless.  Eric would think I was being superstitious, but I see things and make these sorts of connections, these dire predictions.

I tried to convince myself that it was nothing more than a coincidence, not a personal message from the Universe warning me against getting a dog.  But, further down the same road, a car was stopped in the middle of the road with its hazard lights flashing.  A large black dog was running loose across the six lanes of traffic.  I added this to the list of bad signs, along with a few more—Max and Felix, the two dogs next door, barked non-stop, for hours on end, at nothing; and I had checked the Great Dane rescue site the day before and two more of the puppies had been adopted and they still hadn’t even called us about our application.