His name is Dean. First it was Little Britches (in whatever flyover state it was that he came from, I either didn't ever know or am so bad at geography that I can't remember), then when the rescue organization here got him they changed his name to Seymour. I loved it in theory, but in practice it just don't fit, man.
The deal is, I applied as interested in an adoption from this rescue like a month ago. That lil guy ended up being adopted by his foster family, which is great, but the rescue said hey what did you like about him? I said he was a small male terrier not baby not old guy, and they emailed me the week after to say hey Seymour is coming on Feb 14th would you be interested in fostering him? I possibly, do you know how big he really is, and they emailed (days later again) that he's 17 pounds. They attached the foster application paperwork to that email.
I gave it a lot of thought. Maida's epilepsy is a source of stress right now because we don't have her meds dialed in, and also three dogs and one person is a lot. I decided that it wasn't the right time, and I didn't submit the foster application.
Then on Friday they emailed me that Seymour was arriving in Colorado on Saturday morning and would be waiting for me at noon an hour south of my house.
So to be clear, I never confirmed that I wanted him, AND this is a full week before I would have been expecting him in any case.
And yet here he is.
He's potty trained and he likes to snuggle. Aggie's not sure about him and Maida couldn't care less.
Oh, and he's named Dean after Dean Winchester. Yes, today, his first full day with our family (he's only definitely staying a week but unless the girls completely fail to warm up more to him who am I kidding) is James Dean's birthday. Yes, he does have a sort of Dean Martin old school gentlemanly charm.
Even so. Dean Winchester.
I am who I am.