Ranting & Raging.

Okay, so this elderly, retired couple in Rhode Island was interested in Coco.  They completed the adoption application.  I couldn’t get in touch with their rental management company, they never returned calls.  They’ve never owned a dog before so I agreed to use their neice’s vet reference after finding out the niece lived upstairs and does turtle rescue.

I called Michelle’s vet’s office and they said they’d do a referral if I faxed over my form.  I did.  Never heard back.

I emailed them both back that I was having problems.  I heard nothing back for a few days.  In the meantime I get another inquiry on Coco from a fantabulous sounding woman, Sarah.  Sarah’s a teacher married to a Navy man and they just purchased their condo in Cambridge.  They already own a Poochin (poodle japanese chin cross breed) and she sent me pictures and we talked at great length, she’s obviously head over heels in love with her dog and she really wants a companion for him.  This is good.  She asked me very informed questions, even going so far as to discuss dog food options with me.  I immediately felt good about her and was really anxious to get the ball rolling because I am becoming really attached to him and the longer I continue to have him, the harder it’s going to be on me and possibly him.

Friday I get a call from Michelle and an email from her Aunt Maryann, asking me what’s going on?  I repeat I have been unsuccessful in obtaining rental and vet references.  She says there’s a new rental company and that’s probably why I haven’t heard back.  She said no problem, I have a copy of the lease and had my vet print out "all kinds of vet references".  I ask her to fax them to me.  Maryann says she doesn’t know how to use her fax machine.  Okay, now I am mulling this over because now there’s Sarah and I had an instant good feeling about her, however, Maryann has been interested for a couple weeks and I’ve been working with her.  In an effort to play fair, first come first served, I swallowed my reservations and said I could check her paperwork and do a homecheck at the same time and I could even do it Saturday (yesterday) and that if ALL things check out I will bring Coco’s things with me and she could adopt him tomorrow.  She’s so happy and agrees.  I think, "wow, Coco could really be going to a new home tomorrow."  We set the time for between 1:00 PM and 2:00 PM.  They send me an email overnight attesting to how excited they are to be meeting me and Coco.  I spend time at work mapping out directions to her home and drawing up the rental agreement contract.

After work I drive over to the PetsMart, anticipating adopting Coco out, and get him a bag of food he’s been eating here and a bag of pupperoni.  I bag all his toys, the food, the vet records I have since fostering him and get ready to go the following morning.  I alternatively weep Friday evening and Saturday morning on the drive there.  I’ve grown very attached to this little guy, but in my heart and head I know I simply cannot keep him.  I keep convincing myself inside my head that I am doing the right thing, that I shouldn’t be greedy, that Coco will flourish as an only dog being pampered and spoiled by a retired elderly couple.  I take Coco for what I thought was our last walk on the beach.  All night long I dream of the questions I will ask these people and I grieve a little bit, fully anticipating not seeing him again after tomorrow.  Needless to say I didn’t get much sleep.

Saturday morning rolls around.  I packed up the car with Coco and his things Saturday morning.  Take Brian to PT first thing Saturday morning.   Coco and I hit the Starbucks for some coffee while Brian has PT.  We take a walk around Marblehead and I suck it up and hold back tears.

We drive to Rhode Island.  2 fucking hours.  The whole way there I am sucking back tears, again reassuring myself quietly I am doing the right thing and I need to stop being greedy wanting to keep him.  Reminding myself I am bringing so much joy to someone.

We get there.  Right off the bat I get a bad feeling about this rundown apartment complex.  Not for nothing, I really like to think I am not a snob, I’m not rich by any means but the people coming out of this place looked, well, really poor.  Like they are all on welfare of some sort.  I tell myself to stop being so, so, what’s the word I am looking for?  Yes, judgemental.  I say to myself a person doesn’t need to be rich to properly care for a dog.  Look at me?  I’m not rich and I take damned good care of my dog’s.  Vets are expensive but their health is more important to me than money.  I have and will go without to pay a vet bill when needed.

We call them when we get there because they failed to give me an apartment number.  There’s no answer.  WTF?!?  Brian enters the lobby and calls up using the internal intercom system.  Someone answers and rudely says that Maryann is not home and hangs up.  WTF?!?  Donald, Maryann’s husband happened to be outside, I suppose waiting for us.  Okay…with a little trepidition now I introduce myself to Donald.  He bypasses my outstretched hand and grabs for Coco.  I laugh nervously and say, "Okay, well, can we go upstairs and discuss this?"  Michelle, the niece is now there and she leads us up to the apartment.  The place REEKS of cigarette smoke and instantly I am reminded of my mom’s apartment and how she’d lay there hour after hour just chain smoking.  Blech.  I enter the living room past an old man sitting there at the kitchen table smoking.  I smile and shake his hand.  Go into the living room and there’s an infant laying face down on the sofa as an older woman, whom I assumed was Maryann, sitting next to this baby smoking!!  No windows are even open.  I shudder.  Yes, I smoke myself, but NEVER EVER in my home and NEVER EVER in a locked room with my dogs, much less an infant.  I am literally starting to become disgusted.  Then I find out the woman sitting there isn’t even Maryann!  It’s her sister?!?!

I have to cut this short now because we are taking the dogs to a self use dog wash I just found in Salem.  The rest of my rant is bulleted:

• Vet Records?  2 lousy pieces of paper dated in 2002 for 2 cats Michelle tells me she euthanized.  WTF?!?!  I ask her if these are all the records she has and she says yes.  Huh?  You do turtle rescue, you tell me you have an 8-month-old Cocker Spaniel upstairs and you don’t have any vet records past 2002?  RED ALARM!  Then Maryann’s sister proceeds to blurt out that they had cats before, but they also were euthanized.  My blood is literally starting to boil but I hold it together.
• Lease? Clearly states no animals above 15 pounds.  Coco is now 19 and should be between 22 – 25 when he puts back on all the weight he should have for his size.  Then I am told each tenant is now going through signing a new lease because of the new management company.  The new lease allegedly states a pet must be under 25 lbs.  (Side note: I did see dogs walking in and out while we were entering the building.)  Knowing full well I wasn’t ever going to leave Coco with these lying white trash people I say, "Well, is anyone in your rental office?" She quickly states no.  I know that’s probably a lie because HELLO?!?!  What apartment complex doesn’t have someone there on a Saturday which is probably your biggest rental day considering people are usually off on weekends.  RED ALERT again.
• Lady has 6 SMALL grandchildren.  RED ALERT again.  These dogs aren’t wonderful around rowdy kids.  They’re delicately boned and cannot withstand the abuse of a small kid.  They’ll bite or worse, if the kid falls on them they’ll get really hurt and have broken bones!!
• One of the new potential owners isn’t even fucking there for the home check?  Done.

I say to Michelle, just wanting to get the fuck out of there by now, "Listen, I am going to be 100% upfront and honest with you.  I am NOT comfortable leaving Coco with you.  I am sorry, but it’s just not going to happen.  She’s stunned!  She asks if she gets her rental management office to call me on Monday assuring me that they’re allowed to have pets, will that be good?  I look at her in stunned amazement, wanting to get out of there quietly and without incident, I turn around and do exactly what they’ve done to me from the beginning.  I say, "Oh, yeah, sure, sure.  Have them call me."

I got the hell out of dodge.  WTF?!?!  I cannot be more precise or more honest when I advertise him for adoption. 

Fuck you Michelle, Donald and Maryann.  For wasting my entire Saturday, gas and time.