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We knew we wanted a dog, and after many hours of research, my husband decided on a Vizsla. These are not common dogs and are not easy to find. I painstakingly started the difficult process of finding us an adorable, female, Vizsla puppy. Much to my surprise I found a breeder named "Peggy" who had not one, but multiple female Vizsla puppies in Hillsboro, which is a well known suburb of Portland.
I forwarded the ad to my husband who started emailing her right away. My husband pretty much gave her our life story. He wanted her to know that we were serious about getting a dog and that we've done our research and would love her and take care of her, etc. I'm pretty sure the only piece of info he left out in his 10,000 page emails were our blood types. The breeders responses were kind of vague for the amount of info my husband was giving her, but she did say she still had a couple of females available and she sent us pictures. We fell in love with one pup in particular. We started picking out names. The hubby was shopping for doggy supplies on his lunch break. We started to prepare ourselves for the possibility that we would be bringing her home in a couple of weeks.
We scheduled a meeting for this Sunday to come to her house to see the puppies. We were beyond excited. We had our deposit ready and we were prepared to fill out paperwork. Our hope was that we would meet her this weekend and then be able to return on the 14th to pick her up. That was our plan. We just needed her address and we were ready to go.
On Thursday night after getting the kids in bed I heard my husband yell from the bathroom, "Babe" but not in a "Oh I love you so much, babe" tone. Rather it was the "we've been married way too long" tone. Yeah, that one. I rolled my eyes figuring maybe I bought the wrong toilet paper, or I forgot to do something, missed someone's birthday, etc.
My annoyance quickly turned to shock. This was our conversation:
Him: BABE, did you NOT think to check which state this lady lives in?
Me: Huh? What do you mean?
Him: She lives in Ohio. OHIO.
Me: What do you mean Ohio. The ad said HILLSBORO. She lives in Oregon.
Him: Yeah, Hillsboro, OHIO.
Him: Closes bathroom door.
Me: Walks away to sulk.
I knew my husband needed some time to himself. He was so excited about meeting the dogs this Sunday that this was a devastating blow. I was extremely upset and disappointed as well. I had a migraine headache and was out of soda which is my stress reliever. I got in the car and drove to McDonald's to get my dollar soda.
I get a text from the husband. "Get me a hot fudge sundae" Then a few minutes later I get another text. "And a Vizsla".
By the time I got home, things were a little better. We began to joke about the situation because really, what else can you do?
This is how we get over the bad stuff:
Him: The worst part about all of this is not getting to email with Peggy again. I'm going to miss the old lady.
Me: She's probably working on a restraining order right now.
Him: Every time she hears about Portland, she's going to think of us. And think we're nuts. Maybe she thought we were really rich and that's how we were able to travel from OR to OH to get a dog. I did tell her you were a writer. Perhaps she thinks you're a sexy writer.
That was it. I lost it. I began to laugh so hysterically that a piece of tortilla chip became lodged in my esophagus and I even peed my pants a little. Me, a sexy writer? I'm not sure what that even means, but I can't even type or say that out loud without rupturing an organ from laughing so hard.
We spent the rest of the evening drooling over pictures of cute little doggies online and joking over our unfortunate mistake. We learned a valuable lesson that night. If it sounds too good to be true, it probably is. And if you live in Hillsboro, Ohio and are looking for a Vizsla, then you're in luck!