One mid-spring weekend we drove two hours north of San Francisco to Yuba City to meet, and possibly adopt, a nine-week old bundle of Labrador puppy squishiness. After sitting beneath a spreading walnut tree for over an hour playing with the four females still not spoken for, we had to make a choice that didn’t include taking them all home. They were equally adorable, with their shiny, seal-like black coats and remarkably big paws, and we slowly began the elimination. With an elderly gentleman rescue dog waiting at home we bid farewell to the one ball of energy who had made it her job to chew the collars off of each of her sisters while leaping in the air – too much for our dignified Chaucer to handle we thought. I have always believed that ultimately dogs choose us, not the other way around, and sure enough one of the four began to tug just a little harder at our heartstrings. Chubby, with the boxy head of the English labs we both love, she was mellow and eventually fell asleep, first in Tom’s arms, and then mine. After about an hour of visiting we knew – this little one was coming home with us; and so began our journey toward loving Ruby.
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