Hide Your Goats, Bring Your Kids

Our local animal shelter held an adopt-a-pet fair this afternoon. They put up a huge tent in the parking lot of Home Depot and showcased their available dogs and cats. Since Matt needed to return a door anyway (? I don't ask), we figured, what's more fun than a tent full of over-excited dogs and cats. We know! We know! Three overly excited toddlers in a tent full of over-excited dogs and cats.

The adoption fair was predictably noisy and chaotic and less fun than I imagined, what with the excruciatingly loud barking and trying to keep three small children from jamming their hands gleefully between the wire mesh of crates and into the faces of numerous Pitbulls. For the love of God, I had no idea there were so many Pitbulls at animal shelters.

(Please, Pitbull fans, do not flame me, I'm sure most Pitbulls are lovely dogs. One of my closest friends has one and I never hesitate to spend time at her house with my kids. I'm sure your Pitbull raised your newborn single-pawedly and slept in the crib and was gorgeous and loving while your neighbor's Golden Retriever turned on their toddler and did damage requiring like seventy-seven stitches. I know it's the dog and the training and not a particular breed. I still don't want my babies, who have never met a dog they didn't love and are accustomed to cages only in pet stores with friendly puppies, to jam their entire hands into a crate that contains an adult, unknown Pitbull.)

The woman in charge of the tent directed us to a "family dog" for age appropriate petting. A Burmese Mountain Dog in an enormous crate in the middle of the room. Matt, who is only marginally better than a toddler around dogs, was immediately smitten and had the ginormous, smelly creature out of it's crate and mobbed by the loving administrations of our toddlers in seconds. Meanwhile, I perused the information twisty-tied to the side of the crate.

Burmese Mountain Dog
Approved for Kids
Other animals - AGGRESSIVE

Hmmmmm. An one-hundred and thirty pound, long-hair-covered ball of muscles that is "aggressive" with other animals. No, thank you. Not that we were taking a dog home, but we really weren't taking an aggressive dog home. We walk in the city park three blocks from our house every day. Form the mental image of me pushing a triple-wide jogging stroller, surrounded by squirrels and dogs of all types, holding the leash of an 130-pound dog that is aggressive with other animals. No.

Tent woman sidled up to me. Something tipped her off that this possible adoption had gone south. Possibly my pained expression.

Tent Woman: I just want to clarify, I know that it says this dog is aggressive with other animals, but it's nothing really. It's really a misrepresentation.
Me: Oh.

I softened my violent we-are-so-not-taking-this-huge-hairy-behemoth-home attitude slightly although we were so not taking this huge hairy behemoth home.

Me: Is it just squirrels or something?
Tent Woman: Oh no, nothing like that, he's fine with other dogs, all animals really, it was just a goat.
Me: A...goat?
Tent Woman: Yes, he used to live on a farm and he killed a goat.

Her expression was all innocence, belying the horror of her statement.

Me: ...

At a loss for words, I drew blood from the inside of my cheek to keep from screaming at my husband to get my entire litter of offspring away from the goat-killing monster dog. Tent Woman waited expectantly.

Me: Well, just a goat then, no big deal.
Tent Woman: Yes. (She shook her head sadly.) Just a goat, he's really mislabeled.

My biting sarcasm completely wasted on the tent woman, I gave Matt a death-laser-get-my-children-the-hell-out-of-this-tent-right-now look and started herding reluctant children towards the door.

Matt: What? He's really sweet, the kids love him.
Me: (hissing through my teeth) Goat-killer.
Matt: What?

We were out, we navigated the booths, accepted coloring books from Smokey the Bear. Safety first, except inside the freaking tent.

Me: That dog KILLED A GOAT. A f#*king goat. An animal larger than our children. Like a cougar or a lion. I know, we could just adopt a tiger.

Matt looked at me like I was insane. As if I had anything on tent lady.

Matt: He killed a goat?
Me: That's what she said, no big deal, not to worry, just a little slip involving a large animal and a lot of blood.
Matt: Did the goat butt into him or something?

I remained silent, but my expression said something like this: DUDE, DOES IT MATTER???!!!

Then, we both laughed until we cried, because that is just so, so border of Idaho, or Heidi, or not exactly what you'd expect at a pet fair in the parking lot of a large home improvement store.

The end.