It's true, what they say about the animal shelter. You wish you could take them all with you because even the well-run places are noisy and chaotic and smell like poop and desperation. Just unhook the cages--free! you're all free!--and lure them into the back of the car; drive them off to their new life with the bumper dragging on the ground, leaving nothing behind but a receding cacophony of barking and a hint of dog piss.
That's a terrible idea, so we chose just one, a two-month-old shepherd mix who seems sweet and playful and maybe pretty smart and, most importantly, has a black, boopable little nose.
Now we have to wait until she's spayed in the next day or so before we can take her home. I guess that's good because it gives us some time to pull some supplies together and read up on training, but now that we've decided to bring her home it's so hard to wait.
We are filling the time by trying to guess how the cats will react and thinking up names. The shelter calls her "Ladybug," which is not terrible but not too great either. Edwina? Backhoe? Sweetloaf, Junior? I guess we will have to hang out with her for a few days to find out.