On the Process of Dog Adoption (a.k.a. How to Elicit a PTSD Med. School Response)

As perhaps a postlude to my earlier post on What I Do All Day, you should know that The Lawyer and I have been looking to adopt a dog for a few months now.

I have always wanted to own a dog, and The Lawyer very much misses his old dog.  Right now, the timing just seems good.

Our method usually goes something like this:

1.       I find a potential dog at a shelter and send The Lawyer a link online.

2.       I wait for The Lawyer to come and look at dog with me (any range of time from a few hours to a few
days).

3.       We go to shelter/contact foster dog parent and are told that the dog has *just* been adopted.

4.       I get frustrated and stop looking for a week or two.

5.       I get excited, forget about how frustrating finding a small, non-biting, not-barking-too-much, adoptable dog in the DC area is.

6.       Repeat Steps 1-4.

Last week, after finding out that a cute Silky terrier from a great organization was gone, I stopped looking again.  Then, The Lawyer had found a new rescue organization and sent me the links to a few dogs.  I half-heartedly said they looked fine, but when he asked that I fill out the online application, I declined.

You see, just the application was overwhelming. 

The CIA-like puppy group was making me list The Lawyer’s place of employment, duration at the firm (with month and year), and work phone.  Plus, they wanted a list of the resources we had already used, and intend to use in the future, for dog training and behavior modification.  We also had to provide a detailed list of how much money we intend to spend on the dog, including what brand of food we will feed it and the name of our future veterinarian.

It’s either because I don’t intend to rock the boat, or because I’m obviously lazy and a bad potential dog mommy, but I had kind of just presumed we would ask the foster mom some of these questions. I mean, certainly the dog is getting fed and medicated by his foster family already.  And, you know what?  We are just the kind of yuppy, gullible, potential owners to buy the expensive, organic dog food just because the Puppy CIA said to.  Same thing with veterinarian and dog trainer.

Eager couple seeks to expand family with dog.  Will buy expensive dog food in exchange for something to love.

Other questions on the application were more difficult, though.  Like, “Have you ever owned a dog? If you no longer own dog, explain in detail what happened.”

Well, hell.

How do you explain that the boyfriend—with whom you don’t currently live, but will someday—did, in fact, own a dog.  But then, the dog was alone all day because he and his ex-wife were corporate lawyers.  But, your boyfriend is also a techie geek who loves his dog, so he set up a camera at home and witnessed the dog crying and moping, and he felt so bad that he eventually let the dog go live with his ex-wife’s parents.  Except, of course his ex-in-laws are not local and they live in the Midwest, so you can’t go visit the dog and confirm this story.  But!  The ex-in-laws have another dog to play with, lots of land, and a lake!  And it’s totally fine, because his ex-wife’s mother dotes on the dog and he’s happier than The Lawyer ever saw him in DC and it’s not like The Lawyer never visited him again.  That is, until the divorce, when it was—you know, awkward—to go visit your ex-in-laws. 

When I write it out, it doesn’t sound that crazy, but writing “divorce” and “lives with ex-wife’s out-of-state parents” on a dog application?  We’re basically puppy murderers who are never going to own a dog ever!

On the other hand, it’s not like I could put my own information on this application.  While we’re submitting seven years of tax returns to confirm income eligibility, it’s not like someone’s going to hand a dog to a person listing their occupation as, “Currently unemployed/Possible medical school dropout (still undecided), Dependent on boyfriend for financial support of puppy.”

I had actually thought of myself as being in the perfect position to train and acclimate a dog to a new home.  I didn’t even realize that I was skirting the line so close to brown trash until I started filling out this damn dog adoption application! 

(I thought about pointing out that despite not having life direction, I at least have a shred of judgment left, since I’m choosing to adopt a dog and not get pregnant out of wedlock.  But, truth be told, both sets of parents would probably be elated if we did get pregnant.  See, the secret to making your parents be excited about your life failures is to just be old when they happen.  Then, they’re all, “You’re dropping out of school to have a baby? OH THANK GOD, WE THOUGHT WE’D NEVER HAVE GRANDCHILDREN!” True story.)

Anyway, the question that really got me on this application was, “Why do you want to adopt a dog?”

There are certainly a plethora of answers to this question, but much like medical school and residency applications, there is only one right answer.  And, I don’t know what it is. 

So, like any good medical student, I had a minor panic attack, tweeted furiously asking for help, then wrote a two paragraph answer (there were only 2 lines allotted) which I proceeded to edit 43 times.  Then, I read that answer aloud to The Lawyer over and over again, repeatedly soliciting advice about minor grammatical changes. 

Unfortunately, these actions have been documented not because of my own recollection, but from The Lawyer teasing me about them later.  It’s the medical school PTSD, you guys!  I can’t handle it!  In fact, all weekend, the following chorus kept replaying in my head,

“We are not getting a puppy because we’re not good enough!  We’re not what they want and we don’t own a house with a backyard! We are going to be rejected and this is never going to work out!”

The Lawyer will also tell you that after going to meet potential dogs on Saturday afternoon, I woke him up on Saturday night to exclaim with anxiety, “The woman who said she is going to do the home visit is in a wheelchair and YOUR BUILDING IS NOT HANDICAPPED ACCESSIBLE!  WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO!!!”

I don’t know what the relevance of me waking my boyfriend up at 3 a.m. to say this could possibly have, since he should already be acquainted with the obsessiveness, sleep interruption, and constant anxiety that medical school dog adoption entails.

So, we’re getting a dog, you guys.  I mean, maybe.  No one has replied back yet, so I’m just compulsively refreshing my Gmail account to distract myself from the crippling fear of rejection and inability to eat right now.  Obviously.

EDIT:  Annnd, we just got rejected.  :(  I guess it's time to work on getting pregnant now. (JUST KIDDING!)