Plant, Palmer, and Page: Sounds Like a Rock and Roll Band

The other day B and I were on our way to dinner with friends. B likes to listen to either (a) talk radio or (b) sports. I prefer to listen to neither. Unless it is talk radio. Then I make fun of the callers, even if I have no clue what they are talking about. B loves this.

So on this particular day, B was listening to actual sports. A football game to be exact. I did not think I was listening until I heard the announcer say "Robert Plant just fell on the field" or something like that.  This intrigued me:

Me: Did that guy just say the player's name was ROBERT PLANT?

B: Yes, but it is just his name.

Me: Well, I know.  But now all I can think of are women in black dresses and the player snapping his fingers singing "Simply Irrestible" (Note: I may have sung a verse or two here).

B: What? That's Robert Palmer not Robert Plant.

Me:  That's right. Easy mistake since they were in a band together.

B: WHAT? No they were not.

Me: Um, YES THEY WERE.

B: No. You are crazy.

Me: I am going to look it up.

Me: ...

Me: Huh. I may have been thinking about Robert Page and Robert Plant.

B: Oh. Were they in a band together or something?

Smartass.

 

It Wouldn't Be A Vacation If There Wasn't A Dog to Save

We were getting ready for our family vacation at the cottage at the lake.  Jersey was looking forward to it as we all know she loves the lake. Nevada wasn't sure what a lake was, but if Jersey likes it, she was all in.

We were supposed to go at the Fourth of July, but I had a trial that did not settle until the last minute. One vacation ruined.  This was the last time before fall sets in that we, meaning Jersey (and possibly Nevada), could get some swimming in.  So I took Thursday off to do last minute things like laundry, fix my tire, sleep in.  We were set to leave at 3:30.

Then B called me at 9.  He found a dog.  He told me I needed to find a home for it because he was a very sweet, lovable dog that he refused to take to the shelter. Sound familiar? That is how we described Nevada.

Anyway, since Nevada, I have been trolling around rescue sites and knew very well that I would never surrender a dog to the local pound, as it would probably not make it out alive unless adopted.  So I started networking and networking.

B sent me this picture:

Aren't I a pretty boy? Or should it be handsome?

How could I not want to save that face?  He looked a bit like Jersey. Then there was this picture:

And a good boy!

What a sweetie! So I started putting those two pictures on Facebook everywhere. Even my friends were reposting it.

Then B sent this one:

And a silly boy!

Blurry, but look at that sideways tongue.  How about this one:

And a goofy boy!

Yes he is upside down on someone's foot.

Most no kill shelters and rescues were full.  One awesome rescue stepped up and tried to find a babysitter for at least the time we were gone if we would foster him when we got back. They offered to pay for food, vetting, and anything else we would need including training.  

The problem was finding a babysitter.

We called in reinforcements - my brother. You may remember him from staying with Nevada for a week right after we got her because we were going to Europe. Why do these things always happen at the most inopportune times?

B took the dog for a groom and then brought him home before taking him to the vet for a check up.  First, he was LARGE.  80 lbs it turns out.  Double the size of our dogs.  In fact, our immediate neighbor came out and exclaimed, "Your dog got BIG." Um, she had just seen Jersey the day before. Those are some fast acting steroids.

Second, he was just as sweet in person:

I just want to be petted.

I named him Davison after the street that he was found by. Then during the 40 minutes I spent with him outside which mainly consisted of him flopping down on the ground next to me, rolling over, and staring into my eyes as I scratched his ears and rubbed his belly, I named him Romeo.

We introduced him to Jersey and Nevada.  Nevada decided to show her affection in a naughty way. *Ahem* oral slut *Ahem*.  Romeo wasn't neutered and he thought he would repay her with some affection of his own. Then we separated them. However, he did not mind any dogs, big or small, or even our cats that he accidentally met.

Just as my brother was on his way over, we heard from a neighbor who read about Romeo on Facebook and offered to watch him. By the time she came over to meet him, the "watching" was turning into "perhaps keeping him."  Turns out they were looking for a friend for their dog and Romeo was the right age and size.  She left with him, but not before I took this picture:

And sit pretty.

I am happy to report that Romeo, now named Gus, did great that night in his new home. The neighbors took him to be neutered and it was determined that he had heartworms. They are paying for that treatment and the vet expects him to make a full recovery.

Davison/Romeo/Gus stole everyone's hearts and B and I were so happy he found a home. We checked on him via Facebook all weekend. He even stole my brother's heart who insists that Gus will "always be Jake" to him.

Happy Tails, Gus!  

*B affectionately called this my first rescue. I think our execution needs a little help. My parents are just glad we didn't decide to add him to our brood.