"Carole."

All those years of toting around a bajillion-pound bookbag seem to have come in handy, as apparently I managed to pick up a 37-pound squirming dog and place her in my car.

See here, and scroll down (not very far) to "Carole."  (Worst name for a dog ever, btw.  ...No offense if you named your dog Carole.)

On April 16th, the day before my recital, I left the parking lot of my apartment with ten minutes to get to class, and went through the intersection of my apartment's street and a bigger highway--on which stood a frightened looking young dog.  Seriously, in the middle of the frakking road.  With an oncoming 18-wheeler who fortunately, thanks to a red light, was slowing already.  In case you don't already know, I am an animal person like whoa.  There's a dramatic story involving I-65 and a dog I could tell, but I won't go there right now.  Needless to say, I could not handle seeing this and go on to class.

I pulled over, watched the dog wander aimlessly (and senselessly) down the side of the highway, and after startling it, relied on the good old-fashioned squat down, pat your legs, and make high-pitched baby talk at the animal technique--which worked like a charm, and I was quickly bowled over by the very sweet lost dog.  After checking with a neighbor, who confirmed the dog didn't belong to anyone nearby and had been wandering around there as of late, I decided it was in the dog's best interest to take her to the local humane shelter.  Which, apparently, is freaking 30 minutes away. 

After several attempts at convincing the dog it would be awesome to jump through the door of my car, I gave up and picked her up myself.  I placed a towel on the back seats (leather interior, people!), so Doggie decided it would be better to climb into the front seat.  I placed the towel in the front seat; suddenly the back seat seemed more appealing.  I began to drive; now my lap, the tiniest of spaces between steering wheel and gearshift, seemed the most comfortable spot to the moderately-sized dog.  After I assured her that no, I would no be able to shift with her sitting there, she settled for the traditional doggie-wanders-all-over-the-car drive.

It broke my heart to drop her off at the shelter, but I asked about their...erm...policies, and was assured that as long as she could get along with the other dogs fairly well (and it was clear she would be), she'd be placed on the adoption floor, where some dogs had been for 5 months or more.  (None of this three-day-disposal business you hear rumors of, although who knows at other shelters?)  I tried to call and check on her a week later, only to encounter an impossible automated system that prevented any actual human contact.  Lovely.

But I checked the website this morning when I couldn't sleep, and BAM!  There she was!  Definitely not a Carole--I like to think of her as a Bazooka or at the very least, a Blue--but that'll do for now.  I hope someone snatches up this sweetie.