A friend spotted her on Petfinder and noted how much she looked like our pup Pep. I noted that she was at the Guilford County shelter, one city over, the city where my husband worked at the time, the shelter he passed on the way to and from. Semi-seriously, semi-jokingly, I began to daily send him Salsa's Adopt Me page, always accompanied by a caption.
Dead Dog Walking!
I think for my last meal, I'll order kibble.
I'm innocent, I swear.
B***h set me up!
For months, I did this. Months.
Leaving work on the 23rd of December, 2004, my husband thought to himself, "They won't keep space for her if nobody takes her before Christmas. I'll just go look. No harm in looking."
That afternoon, the kids and I were in the backyard playing when he pulled up. He got out of the car and declared, "I did something stupid." Then I heard a muffled bark from inside the car, and my heart jumped.
When Salsa got out, she was matted and smelly. She was scared and held her tail firmly beneath her legs. Her teeth were so yellow it looked like someone had taken a highlighter to them. Because she had been in a restricted space for five months, she wouldn't move more than about a foot in any direction unless forced.
I loved her instantly.
Happy welcome home anniversary, Salsa.
Find your own Salsa