Recently, I have been been indulging in a very sick and vivid fantasy. Hang on to your purity rings, kids.
This little fantasy of mine begins with me driving down the road on my way home from work or school, probably singing lousily to pop music (indulging another fantasy WITHIN a fantasy...I told you this was sick) as I am wont to do when driving. So I'm just minding my own business, and the roads are pretty clear (because minimal traffic in Orlando is CLEARLY the stuff of fantasies. If I can't have it in real life, it's happening in my daydreams, dammit!). Just driving...la la la...and then, a ways up ahead on the side of the road I spot something. Why, it looks like an animal. I slow down a bit and as I get closer I realize that it is INDEED an animal. And a really cute one. With a limp. I slow down and pull over and get out to inspect said animal and it turns out to be an Old English Bulldog with a hurt paw. I am overwhelmed with the cuteness and sympathy for the situation and upon realizing the dog is both friendly and rabies-free, I do my best to either lift it (if it's not too heavy, but those suckers can weigh a lot) or assist it back to my car, and I put it in the front seat. Right next to me. Where Sassy used to sit. Only she's not upset about this at all, because she knows I take good care of injured animals. ANYWAY.
Since I'm close to home I decide to go there (for those of my local readers, I imagine this taking place on Chapman Road, which has both good grassy side parts for the dog to walk on and close proximity to my home). And I get out and bring it in and Millie and ChiChi are like, "Whoa, wtf?" and my mom is all aww-ing over it. So we take it to the vet to get it checked out. And he tells us that he seems healthy apart from the injured paw (I haven't decided yet if this is like the old "thorn in the paw" trick or a hurt bone or tendon. IT DOESN'T MATTER. I just love coddling hurt animals), and seems to be about 3-4 years old. We bring him home to care for him and decide that we should probably put out "FOUND DOG" signs, just in case this is someone's dog. Besides, if someone had found Sassy I would've wanted them to at least make an effort.
So for one week I am incredibly hesitant about getting close to the dog. I just change its bandages and feed it and don't cuddle it even though I want to really really bad. And I probably cry a lot during this week. And nobody responds to the "FOUND DOG" posters and adverts. Enter week two of trying to find its home. Nobody responds. I'm starting to get hopeful at this point, because the dog is so sweet and nice and potty-trained (this is MY fantasy, okay?) and gets along with Millie and Cheech. And so then FINALLY it ends up that no one responds and I can keep him. And I name him either Shakespeare or Jasper (because "Jazz/Jazzy" is the CUTEST nickname EVER). And he sleeps in my room, on the floor so as not to messy my sheets, and we live happily ever after.
This is my deep and sordid fantasy. The purity ring comment was clearly a joke.
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