Dog?

I may finally be getting a dog. Just a few days earlier, I would have vehemently refused getting a puppy- and perhaps even one from a breeder? I would have called the idea insane- why, when so many homeless dogs are in our shelters? But now, I'm not so sure anymore. Now, I know we're getting a little puppy- 8 weeks, maybe 12. Not 8 months, not 2 years. A little puppy. And, maybe, even a purebred- a Miniature Schnauzer, perhaps.  But also, maybe a mutt from the shelter. As long as I get a dog... I'll be happy. Whenever I think of this, whenever I remember that, hey! I'm getting a dog! (which is always), I feel happy and giddy inside. I feel an urge to skip and twirl, to let out the occasional shriek or scream of omg-ness. I can see myself, a little gray bundle asleep on my lap, a puppy scrambling through the grass between my outsretched legs, out on a walk with my dream come true on a leash with a blue collar. My dog, front paws perched on a baby gate in my kitchen door, looking lovingly at me sitting in the next room, ears perked. Rushing outside so my dog won't piddle inside on the kitchen floor. Gently brushing my puppy's fur, stroking him (or her). My puppy sitting before me on the white kitchen tiles, waiting expectantly for his next meal. Romps in the park, playing fetch at the field by my house. In a word- love. In another word- happiness. Best summer of my life. I can only hope.