My husband talked me into a dog. A super social dog named Woofie. We loved him, but he kept running off to make new friends.
Which was how Andy talked me into a second dog. He picked another rescue, a female found wandering on the street of South Central Los Angeles when she was about four months old. We met her at an adoption fair on Sunday, signed papers, and waited another two days for a volunteer to deliver her after we cleared a background check.
My neighbor, an officer in the Los Angeles Police Department, was skeptical when I told him our new rescue’s history. “Why didn’t you get a purebred? One where you know where the dog has been and what kind of breed it is?”
“Like your German Shepherd?”
“Well, the rescue group did a temperament test on her, and they say she’s great with other dogs and cats. We even watched her playing with a buddy.”
“Yeah, but she’s a ghetto elk!” Continue reading Ghetto Elk (#144)