Still Not Gonna' Do It

So what if I told Jon, "I can't do it. I can't get rid of the dog now."

So what?

So what if she is cute and snuggly and great with the cats, kids, and other dog...

She still isn't housebroken.

This one statement nullifies all the rest.

Monday afternoon, I went to my friend Julie's. While there, Rachel, who was, in some weird twisted, long string of events, the caretaker of the dog we now foster...called. Apparently (stay with me here)

Jon put Hazel (or Poopydeaux) out on a lead with Scooby in the front yard and went to his office (Willie's) to work.
Hazel got tangled and slipped out of her harness.
A man in Hidden Valley found her and LOVED her.
He called the number on her collar, which was Rachel's sister's number (she fostered her too).
Rachel's sister called Rachel (she fostered her too).
Rachel called me.
I called Jon to say, "YOU LOST THE DOG?!"
To which Jon replied, "No I didn't." (Remember, he was at Willie's and had no idea.)

The doggy-drama heightened when Jon went to pick up our foster dog. The man, Steve, who had found her, wanted to know if we wanted to get rid of her. Jon told him the whole story (see previous posts) and the man said that he wanted her. Flat out, no questions asked, wanted her. He was crazy about her. Well, of course Jon couldn't just hand over the dog right there because our kids needed to say their goodbyes and we needed to gather her stuff, AND we just weren't sure we wanted to say goodbye...

Last night made us sure.

We went out to Gable's play (which was spectacular, pictures to follow) and let's just say the dog had some fun while we were gone.

Yeah, we're sure.

Jon called Steve to see if he still wanted the dog.

He. doesn't. know.

He doesn't know.

He said he has to ask.

And the doggy drama continues...