softies

That's what Zac and I are. We got a call at 9:30 last night from our neighbor, Myla, the Dog Catcher Extraordinaire. Given that we had such a hard time with the Scout vs. tiny house/tiny dog/easily bruising Sarah legs, I was prepared to combat any request she had with a gentle let down. Until she said the magic word: Pomeranian. On one of her many dog walks last night, she happened upon an older Pom who looked tattered, hungry and tired. He was very scared of her and tried to get away, but she did end up cornering him on a neighbor's front porch and leashing him. He didn't snap at her; he pulled a Jack move and surrendered belly up so she could scratch it while she put the leash on. Smart boy.

She says she thinks he is in the double digits in age because of his glassy eyes, condition of his teeth, and grey hair. She says his hair is badly matted and unkempt, and that he's got a flea and tick collar on, but no tags.

She's bringing him over to meet us tonight. I have a feeling that this little boy is about to finally find his forever home. :)