As the eleven o’clock hour grew nearer and no one showed up, I thought that the Boston was mine. Then the door opened, and several people came in and walked to the front desk, stating, one after the other, they were there to adopt the little Boston terrier. My heart fell. I was a nervous wreck. At the precise time, everyone picked a number from out of a cup. I grasped mine in my hand, not looking to see what number I had chosen. Finally, the time came for someone to pick the winning number. In loud voice, I heard, “Number two.” I still hadn’t looked at my number. When no one spoke up, I looked at my number, and saw number two. I was so happy, and all the employees at the shelter expressed how happy they were that I had won the little dog. At that point, I paid the money for him, and was told to pick him up the next day after he was neutered. I did go back to his pen, and told him he was mine, and he seemed to understand that he now had a home.

The next day, I drove into Everett and picked my new Boston up at the Vet clinic. He was still a little groggy from the medication, but sat in my sister’s lap all the way home. I took the little dog to my vet the next day, and had him checked for everything, and, other than being thin, he was in good health.

I’ve had the Boston terrier, now, for several years, and have never been sorry that he picked me to come and live with. By the way, he never did answer to the name Sir Hondo, so I named him George.