If you can't tell, I'm not a fan of this book. To be honest, I'm not a fan of the Old Testament in general, and this book in particular. People say, "oh, it shows Job's loyalty to God, and how even when you're miserable, God is still looking out for you." I say that's pretty much bullsh*t. This book shows God being petty, engaging in debate with the Devil, stooping to his level, and playing games with His most loyal worshipers. If a kid is getting teased in school, most parents will tell the kid to ignore the meanie, to rise above their behavior, to be the better person. Job shows that even God winds up getting caught by the need to prove Himself right from time to time, and I don't like it.
(Religiously, I'm a fan of Jesus. If we all lived by what Jesus actually said, the words he told us to live by, we could all be closer to God and each other, no matter what religion we are. I'm really not down with anyone who tries to get in the middle of my relationship with Jesus, and that includes other Biblical writers. Like Paul. I'm not down with Paul trying to tell me how to live my life. Jesus said He was the Way, the Truth, and the Life. Not Paul. Jesus said to turn the other cheek, to make peace, to treat prostitutes and tax collectors with kindness and love. I can easily and happily have a relationship with Jesus. Anything else is, frankly, superfluous, in my non-theological opinion. On that note, I'm a big fan of John Shelby Spong, who wrote the books Why Christianity Must Change or Die, Rescuing the Bible from Fundamentalism, and lots of other juicy morsels for liberal Christians like me to chew on. I like him in part because he makes me feel conservative, which is a pretty rare thing.)
But I digress.
So we found the pups last Wednesday. By Friday no one had claimed them yet, and the tan one ran away. The black one was still with us, laying on the deck, being really great. We woke up to her barking in the middle of the night on Friday night, and it had started sleeting/hailing/being a general mess. We cleaned the cats out of the bedroom and brought her in, where she was so incredibly chill and mellow. Saturday we open the door and let everyone meet each other. It was a cat/dog love fest. Seriously. Everyone was so happy. Still no one claimed her. By Sunday we're thinking we might want to keep her, and it would actually work out. Legally we're obligated to give it five days before finding a new home for her, so I figure she's ours by Monday.
Monday the owner emails. After googling for a while, I find out she's a school librarian in the same district where one of my organization's Board members is based - weird small world. She's been out of town on a family emergency. When I ask why no tags, she says that the dog chokes herself with the tags on the deck. But then when I ask where the dog would have gone during the storm (we got a foot of snow Sunday night), she says the dog is indoor. So which is it? Indoor, where the tag wouldn't matter, or outdoor? And besides, why don't you get a freaking chip? She says her petsitter has been frantically looking for the dog, but if that's the case, why hadn't we been called before? We posted flyers, we posted online, we called the vets. Why would you wait for six freaking days? What kind of petsitter is that?
It's all just too fishy.
The humane society called her and reamed her out for letting her dog get out, and she got really aggressive with them. Frankly, I don't like anyone who gets aggressive with the humane society.
So the long and short of it is that we gave the dog back to a crappy owner who didn't even care enough about a dog she's had for thirteen years to get a chip in the dog's ear so that she doesn't get lost. That pup deserves a better owner than her, and she doesn't deserve that dog. That's all I can say about that.
I don't know how the humane society gives back animals to crappy owners all the time. It broke my heart giving this one back. I don't know how you do it time and time again.
So the reason why God is screwing with me in all of this is that after we gave her back, I said to J that it was clear that God didn't want me to take care of anything right now. He takes away my first baby at 21 weeks. He takes away my second baby. Now he's taken away this dog who is clearly being taken care of by a negligent owner. I would have been thrilled to give the dog back if the owner had shown a little gratitude for us taking her in; had, say, offered to reimburse us for the food we bought, or even said, "wow, thanks for taking her to the vet to see if she was chipped, and you're right, that's a really good idea," or said anything that made me think she gave a damn about the dog other than, "we've had her for thirteen years."
J says, "no, it's the opposite. God sent us the dog to care for because He knew a snowstorm was coming, and He knew that she would have frozen, so He sent her to us to take care of during the storm."
And that really set me off. Because it's a joke. The negligent owner couldn't have called on Wednesday or Thursday or Friday or Saturday when I wasn't attached to the dog, could she? No, she emails on Monday, when we're already snoozing by the fire with each other, and she's laying on her back with her feet up inviting me to rub my face in her belly.
The second miscarriage couldn't have happened the entire weekend when I was spotting and was sure that I was miscarrying. Noooo. That would have been too easy. We need to take Heather to the doctor first and do an ultrasound and let her see a heartbeat first so she relaxes a little and thinks it will all be ok. Then we'll have the miscarriage happen the very next day. Yep, because otherwise it would have made too much sense, right?
I am so ready for our cruise. I'm pissed off, and that's all there is to that.