snapshots of our life.

Just a quick marriage story that I have to tell.  Ok, so it’s not that quick and I’ve told it a million times, so if you’ve heard it already “plug your ears”, but I want to write it down so we remember it…

Last weekend Craig and I went to Target to pick up a few things, mainly a curtain rod.  While we were there, we went through the furniture aisle because we’ve really been needing an end table.  In Columbus, money was tight and a large Tupperware container sufficed.  But that wasn’t going to work here.  The table we liked was $99.99.  Which may or may not sound like a lot to someone else, but we’re on a newlywed-just-poured-lots-of-our-money-into-our-home-on-an-Army-salary kind of budget.  So I picked up a small stool, just big enough to hold the lamp I am hoping to get off the floor, that costs $14.99 and suggested we get it for the time being.  Until we don’t feel so guilt-ridden about buying the end table.  Craig proceeds to point out the negative aspects of buying the stool.  I tell him I’m trying to compromise and ask him what his alternative is.  His alternative is buying the table.  We stand in this same aisle, staring at the end table, for a good 30 minutes.  Time ticks. We finally decide.  We buy the table, load it up in the truck, and head home.

Turning into the neighborhood we see a dog wandering out in the road.  He looks scraggly and tired.  And limping towards the main road that we just turned in from.  This is another area where Craig and I are total opposites.  The dog’s whole life flashed before my eyes and Craig never even slowed down (until I pled with him to go back). 

So we get the little dog into his truck and take him home.  I go to give him a bath and Craig goes to ride up the street to see if anyone lost a dog.  (In his head probably thinking, “Oh shit, Kristen’s going to want to keep this thing if I don’t find out who it belongs to.)  FYI: Craig doesn’t like little dogs.  He’s a big dog kinda guy.  After I bathe him I begin cutting on his long scraggly tail hair and ear hair and the feathers (yes feathers!) that are tied on top of his head like a little ribbon would be.  Craig comes back and we finish grooming him Culberson-style and I proceed to make “Dog Found” signs to post around the neighborhood and the neighborhood adjoining ours.  (In my head at this point I’m thinking if no one claims this dog, I can’t take him to the pound to live out his last year or two of his life.  I’ve gotta figure out a way to keep him.)  We realized his limp probably had something to do with his age.  He had cloudy eyes and two teeth (his tongue stuck out permanently).

We spent the whole day with this guy, who Craig affectionately named “Curly”. (He was really coming around, I think I could have kept him if no one claimed him.)  He followed us around everywhere and loved being right next to me.  We were supposed to be at my dad’s for dinner that night so I load Curly and his blanket that he had come to love that day up in the truck with Craig and we headed over there.  On the way over I get a phone call from a man who says he lost his dog the night before.  (FYI: The sign had said, “Call to identify.  I didn’t want just anyone calling thinking they could get a free dog if they say it’s theirs.  People are cruel and I had a duty to return him to his rightful owner!).  So I ask the man what the dog had in his hair? He answers, “feathers.” It must be his dog!  I tell him his dog has been taken good care of but we aren’t at our house.  And explain that it will be a few hours until we can get him back home. 

We pull up when it is time to take Curly home.  The couple is out on the driveway ecstatic that Curly (called Reece by his owners, but he’ll always be our Curly) is home!  They thank us and tell us how he got out, etc.  And the man hands me a bill.  I tell him I can’t accept his money, that I have a Cocker Spaniel and I would hope someone would do the same thing for me if she got out.  He insists.  And really, I mean, I’m not going to keep fighting a man who insists on giving me money.  I graciously accept it, thinking it’s probably a $20 bill.  We get back into the truck, the light comes on as we do, and I look down to find a $100 bill in my hand! It paid for our table we bought  at Target that morning when we found him!