Thank you for coming to our home
We adopted our dog from a pet shop.
When we decided to live with a dog, I researched a lot about where and how to adopt one.
That was when I learned the term "puppy mill."
So, I was planning to adopt from a rescue organization or a breeder.
However, one day.
I happened to peek into a pet shop at a home improvement store in a neighboring prefecture.
My eyes were drawn to one dog.
That dog was about twice as big as the other small, cute dogs, was priced at a third of the cost, and was placed there as if it were being sold off at a discount.
Its fur was overgrown and covering its eyes, and the area around its eyes was bright red from tear stains.
When we stared at the dog, the clerk let us hold it.
Because of the overgrown fur, I couldn't tell from its appearance, but when I picked it up, it was shockingly skinny.
I could feel its spine clearly.
And its fur, which should have been pure white, was stained yellow with urine up to its belly.
While I was holding it, the dog kept licking my fingers.
When I handed it to my husband, for some reason, it gnawed on his fingers.
"I'm taking this one home."
When I said that, it seemed my husband felt the same way.
"Ouch, ouch."
He nodded while having his fingers gnawed on.
We bought a cage, a toilet, a crate, and other supplies, covered the floor with cushion mats, and rushed to prepare for the dog's arrival.
Then, two days later, we drove to the neighboring prefecture again to pick it up.
During the paperwork, the clerk told us many times,
"You are so kind."
I wondered if I was radiating an aura of motherly love that I couldn't hide.
At first, I thought so lightheartedly.
But I realized that the clerk's "kind" carried the nuance of,
"Why would you go out of your way to adopt a dog like this?"
It made me feel sad and frustrated, and I almost cried.
That is how our dog became a member of our family.
"A dog like this" is now our world's greatest treasure.
Thank you for waiting for us
at that home improvement store.
Thank you for coming to our home.
