Last March we had to put our poodle, Rigby Alfred Poodlesworth, to sleep. It was one of the most awful decisions I have ever had to make and I couldn’t even take him myself; I said goodbye to him in the garage and my mother drove him to the vet and stayed with him. He was 14 and very old and probably had kidney failure, but still. I felt like I was murdering him and it still makes my heart stabby with grief when I think about my best little buddy being put to sleep.

Jeff and I had gone back and forth on getting another dog. We aren’t fans of big dogs, especially big dogs that drool and shed. I’m not a fan of anything that drools and sheds, I have enough on my plate with the children and they do both. Zoe’s request for another dog has been steady for the last year. She asked Santa for a puppy for Christmas and had to settle for a dollhouse. I feel this builds character. Or just gives her something to tell her therapist when she’s much older. You know, how she can’t foster stable relationships because her mean ass mother was on the computer too much and wouldn’t buy her a puppy for Christmas.

I had been watching the Humane Society website, checking every day to see what kinds of dogs were available. I cannot go to the Humane Society because I will leave with a couple of dogs (not cats because they dig in their own shit and pee and then walk on your kitchen countertops), a hamster, a snake and a few birds because those animals need homes, yo. And forget taking Zoe with me, that ends with her in tears on the sidewalk in front of the building. Trust me.

A few weeks ago, I spotted a poodle online that looked almost identical to Rigby but was a female. This is not important, I’m not trying to replace Rigby, but looking at that little doggie made me happy and I decided to go adopt see her.

Once at the Humane Society, I had to check in. Now back in the day, you walked through the rows and rows of cages, picked out a dog, signed a form with a pencil, paid cash and were on your way with your new pet. It took like 18 minutes. This is 2010, so now computers are involved. I was basically interviewed for 10 minutes while a nice lady logged my info. I’m convinced she was running a background check.

After she deemed me worthy of viewing the dog, I am taken back to a tiny room with plastic chairs. She tells me the dog was picked up as a stray and might act weird around new peeps. She brings in the bouncy, 11 pounds of happy white poodle who freaking LOVES me. Like jumped in my lap loved me. Of course, she’s in dog jail and probably knows what’s about to go down if she doesn’t bust out. The dogs totally talk on the inside. I blurt out that I want to take her home and the nice warden pound lady is stoked. I then make the mistake of mentioning that my kids will be happy we are getting a dog.

Dog Warden: “You have children?”

Me: “Yes, two. They love dogs.”

Dog Warden: “We would prefer this dog go to a home without children; it tried to snap at us when we were giving it shots. If it bit your children, we could be held liable and blah blah blah…”

Me: “Has the dog actually been exposed to children?”

Dog Warden: “Not that we know of.”

Me: “And the dog hasn’t actually bit anyone?”

Dog Warden: “Our animal specialists determine the dog’s demeanor based on blah blah blah…mature home only…blah blah blah…”

Me: “I would also snap at you if you tried to jab me with a needle.”

Dog Warden: “Have a nice day.”

I was majorly devastated. I made up my mind on the car ride home that I didn’t want another dog. I understand where the Humane Society was coming from, obviously I would never want my children in harm’s way, but I wasn’t trying to adopt Cujo. This was an 11 pound poodle that licked me the entire ten minutes I held it on my lap. I stopped looking online for poodles immediately; my heart can’t handle the rejection.

Cut to Sunday. Zoe’s dad sent me a text message saying that he might get Zoe a dog, an eight month old puppy that nobody wants. I messaged back “NO” and went about my business. Later that evening, he called me to let me know he was bringing Zoe home and that she got a dog. GREAT. And thanks for listening, my NO must have looked like YES.

I hang up and mention to Jeff that Zoe was coming home with a dog. We are convinced that since we had nothing to do with the dog selection process that this dog is probably a jerk that will eat our faces off in the middle of the night. We put on our poker faces and prepare to play hardball. There’s no way that dog is staying here.

Until Zoe comes in the door with the cutest four pound ball of sheer terror I have ever laid eyes on.

How could you say no to this face?

Zoe originally named him Hello Kitty, but Troy called him Hamburger. My request to refer to him as Tupac was denied. On Monday, Zoe stated that a dog might be confused being called Hello Kitty.

Internets, say hello to Charley. He slept all night with Zoe and then promptly woke up and crapped on my rug. And then ate it. But I still love him.

Like all the members of our family, Charley has figured out that if he wants blog time, he needs to have a wicked Asian game face. (Possibly why my fake Asian husband is hardly ever pictured here.)

Well played, Charley.

Welcome to the family.