How absolutely adorable is he? He was hanging out in our yard when we came home from school the other afternoon.
Sam immediately jumped out of the van and asked if we could name our new pet Lewis. (Why Lewis you ask? I've no idea at all.)
While I'm gently explaining that the sweet and precious hound dog delightfully licking and running around them excitedly was not our dog Sarah chimes in,
"I'm going to call him King Louie"
He. Is. Not. Our. Dog.
You try telling that to five children that desperately want one of their very own to love and cherish and then forget to feed and clean up behind. It was kind of hard for them to take me seriously because the little fella would come trotting up to me with this stupid grin on his face and big jowls blobbing all over and I'd stop mid sentence lecture and say something ridiculous like, "Aren't you just a precious one...you sweet wittle handsome dawg."
But my goodness he was so cute with those big droopy eyes and short stubby body. (Hey that may be why we bonded so well ;-)
Alas, it was not meant to be and after calling the vet's number listed on his tag we received a call from Elvis' people who promptly came and claimed him.
(I'm going to refrain from the obvious 'Elvis has left the building'...okay, well I guess I didn't but it just had to be put out there.)
I snapped a quick picture on the phone to send Rob of Sarah and Em with Elvis with the words 'Guess what we found?!' while we figured out what to do.
Something tells me that Daddy is the backbone really holding us to the personal no pet policy we have in place as long as we are renting a house. I'll probably cave way faster than him when we buy a place.
The thought which both delights and mortifies me.