reality check

So I sent a message to the rescue organization hosting Beau, asking if there was any way he could be happy in a tiny condo with no yard, two cats, and four-block to a park, and heard back that, as a senior dog, he has a hard time walking long distances and needs to be lifted in and out of a vehicle.  He's very large, and the vehicle would be an ancient Toyota Landcruiser (a significant hop up).  My sister-in-law also pointed out that dogs often become incontinent in old age.  No, this would not be a good fit.  What was I thinking?

Maybe the energy that I've been channeling into dog-dreaming is best diverted to the new baby garden.  I really don't want the garden to fade into another abandoned hobby, something I have a long history of cultivating.  Before the move west, the good part of a closet was dedicated to paraphernalia of abandoned obsessions which once were as new and fresh and exciting as the gardenette feels now: fencing gear, "character" shoes and castanets, a unopened roll of Rives BFK paper (I optimistically moved that).  The acoustic guitar never made it back east from the previous cross-country move, and the Roland electronic drum kit was purchased by a work colleague.  Thankfully, I never got around to building the low-flying trapeze.  I have, however, continued to schlep most of the unread books on past obsessions.  Certainly someday I will want to get back into reading about Northern European mythology, Victorian London, Japanese pop culture, seasonal monastery cooking, Venice, and ... herb gardening! Voila!

The dog, if there is a dog, would of course be a commitment for the long haul (incontinence and all).  But, I wouldn't want to take that on with a strong possibility of the dog (or the cats, or me) being unhappy with the situation from day one, and I doubt the rescue organization would allow go for the placement, either.  I'm sorry, Beau.