How to Adopt a Puppy and Bomb on a Personality Test in One Fell Swoop
Over the years, we’ve had the joy of living with purebred dogs – always Golden Retrievers – as well as with rescues. The dogs themselves? Unfailingly loyal, endlessly lovable, and each one a heart-stealing miracle. But the path to bringing them into our family? Wow – as different as night and day!
.jpg)
Buying a purebred is like shopping for a luxury appliance: sleek, costly, and, other than the occasional wait for a litter to be born, fast and efficient. You point to the tail wagging marshmallow that makes your heart skip a beat. “That one,” you declare. “He’s perfect.” You hand over an eye-popping sum of money – enough to finance a semester at college or a small car – and walk away with the cutest creature on earth who probably already has a sponsored Instagram account. You may even get a tote bag and some artisanal kibble samples.
Adopting a rescue, though, is a different story, a bureaucratically messy but deeply rewarding experience.
Rescue dogs, especially older ones, are often forgotten souls – left behind, shut in pens, aching for connection. When they finally find a family, they love with unconditional gratitude that melts you.
But first, you must earn the approval of the rescue agency by passing what feels like a government background check, spiritual evaluation, and soul audit all wrapped into one. Think CIA security clearance application but run by well-meaning volunteers in fleece vests and Crocs. You don’t just need to prove you're a good person. No, that won’t cut it. You must demonstrate you're the absolute best person, fully capable of meeting the physical, emotional, social, dietary, and possibly scriptural needs of the puppy who stole your heart.
Rescue agency representatives delight in calling the object of your affection “spirited and eager to please,” then hand you a 275-question compatibility test. Sure, it’s the right thing to do. Totally understandable. But calling it thorough is an understatement! You enter an alternate universe in which confessing to one minor mishap – you once fell asleep with the TV on 22 years ago – could cost you the dog. Compared to this, buying a purebred feels as simple as ordering fries at a drive-thru.
The respective acquisitions might go something like this:
Purebred Purchase
Me: That puppy is adorable. We'll take him.
Breeder: Great. Enjoy your golden fluffball.
Me: He’s wonderful. Best day ever!
Breeder: You will absolutely love him. Your total fee is $5,000. Will that be Cash, Zelle, or Venmo?
Rescue Adoption
Me: That puppy is adorable. We'll take him.
Agency Rep: Ah yes, Dexter. Sweetest soul. Found him two days ago, abandoned on the side of a highway, clinging to a Reese’s Pieces wrapper and a rapidly fraying shred of hope.
Me: Aww. He seems so playful and lovable.
Agency Rep: He is. But before we discuss "taking” him, as you put it, with your cavalier and unwarranted self-assured display of entitlement, we’ll need to determine if you’re emotionally, physically, financially, spiritually, and karmically qualified to care for Dexter.
Me: Karmically?
Agency Rep: Wouldn’t you think Dexter would consider that important?
Me: Sure, sorry if I conveyed an impression that I might be doubting you. Or Dexter.
Agency Rep: Okay, then. Let’s begin the assessment. Question 1: Have you ever been arrested, incarcerated, or received a warning for a burned-out taillight?
Me: Uh, a warning once for a broken turn signal.
Agency Rep: Left or right?
Me: Gee, it was 15 years ago. I just can’t recall. But I had it repaired as soon as it was called to my attention by the traffic cop.
Agency Rep: That's 3 points off. If you're unclear about left vs. right, what hope does poor Dexter have?
Me: Seems like a harsh penalty, but I guess I have no choice but to accept your process.
Agency Rep: Glad that’s settled. Question 2: Do you own an oven?
Me: Yes. I mean, don’t most people?
Agency Rep: I must have missed it, but when were you given permission to ask questions? If I’m not mistaken, that’s my job. Question 2, Part B: Your oven – have you ever left it turned on and departed the house?
Me: We’re very careful.
Agency Rep: Very careful. The answer we’re looking for is Never. We even welcome some mild indignation at having been asked the question, as though embedded in the question is an accusation. However, your proclamation of very careful sounds like a dodge, a self-serving distraction in which the truth is masked. But I see through it. I’ll bet you almost burned down your house on multiple occasions. 2 points off. You're at 95.
Me: Is there a passing score?
Agency Rep: 75. But don’t get cocky, we’re only on Question 3. Next question: Do you snore?
Me: Only once. When I had a mild sinus infection.
Agency Rep: So, you snore and you’re immunocompromised. 4 points off for snoring, 4 for your proneness to illness, and 6 for the blatant conniving to downplay your health condition. You’re at 81.
Me: This feels more intense than applying for a mortgage.
Agency Rep: Don’t worry, we’ll get to that, too. But first, do you celebrate birthdays?
Me: Sure, but we don’t go overboard.
Agency Rep: Dexter expects balloons. And singing. And frosting. One point off.
Me: How would he even know? After all, he’s just a puppy, a few months old. He hasn’t even had a birthday yet.
Agency Rep: Dog years! In dog years, he’s two! Ignorance of canine chronology – another point off. You’re at 79. Next question: Where will Dexter sleep?
Me: On a cozy dog bed, right at the foot of our bed.
Agency Rep: So not in his own room?
Me: Only if he prefers.
Agency Rep: Hmm. Conditional flexibility…you may live to see another question. Sort of.
Agency Rep: Is your yard fenced?
Me: Yes. Of course. We have chicken wire and posts around the entire property.
Agency Rep: Chicken wire? That’s the fencing equivalent of giving Dexter a parachute made from papier-mâché. Sign this promissory note agreeing to install stockade fencing or we call it quits.
Me: That’s expensive.
Agency Rep: Oh, so now it’s Dexter’s safety vs. your bank account?
Me: Where do I sign?
Agency Rep: Do you have noisy neighbors?
Me: No, they’re very quiet.
Agency Rep: Dexter thrives in the rollicking rhythms of vibrant, communal joy. One point off.
Me: Wait, I forgot, the McCalls throw loud parties.
Agency Rep: That’s not joy. That’s rowdiness. Might frighten Dexter. Another point off. You’re at 77. Walking a fine line.
Agency Rep: Do you consider yourself more religious or more spiritual?
Me: Yikes, I didn’t expect that one.
Agency Rep: Fortunately for you, we’re not allowed to deduct for that one. Something about separation of church and state. But be advised, Dexter prays nightly. He cherishes his personal relationship with the Lord.
Me: I respect Dexter’s right to worship as he sees fit. Far be it from me to interfere with that.
Agency Rep: Now the mortgage question -- do you have one?
Me: Nope. The house is paid off.
Agency Rep: That’s quite a tone – bragging about financial stability. One point off for smugness. I rent a basement apartment with a leaky pipe and a boiler that’s inhabited by ghosts. Knocking, knocking every night. It’s a séance in the form of a plumbing system, where the dead bang on the boiler, taunting me endlessly, crying out with supernatural wails, “You’ll never afford more than this.”
Me: Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound smug.
Agency Rep: Another point off for backpedaling. Where’s your dignity? Where’s your sense of conviction, of self-worth? Dexter needs a person with a backbone, not an insipid, sniveling jellyfish willing to sell his soul to get a prince like Dexter. You're at 75.
Me: Sorry.
Agency Rep: What? Did you just say sorry again? Are you not paying attention? I just took off a point for your groveling apologies. Consider yourself on probation for the rest of this interview. This next question is critical. Say you’re out running errands. You return home and, horrors, your house is on fire. As you race toward the door, you hear two cries on the inside: Dexter on the left, and Old Aunt Molly on the right, lodged helplessly in her creaking wheelchair. You can only save one. Who lives?
Me: That’s a Sophie’s Choice situation.
Agency Rep: This isn’t movie night. Whom. Do. You. Save?
Me: I have a plan. I’ll run as fast as I can for Dexter. We’ll bolt outside. Then I’ll ask him to pray for Old Aunt Molly’s safe escape. His personal connection to God could be just what’s needed to save her.
Agency Rep: You’re showing some creativity by going the theology route. 3 points back. You’re at 78.
Agency Rep: Will Dexter be allowed on your couch?
Me: You mean his couch?
Agency Rep: Bonus point for some deft reframing, even though the pandering subtext should neutralize it. But because I’m in your corner, well sort of, you’re back to 79.
Agency Rep: Would you feed Dexter table scraps?
Me: Only those your agency recommends.
Agency Rep: Tell me, won’t you, what are the scraps that have been approved by our agency?
Me: Um, I, I didn’t read the list yet.
Agency Rep: One point off for ignorance, one for failing to do your homework, and one for brazen sucking up. You’re back down to 76. This is a rollercoaster.
Me: No wonder I’m getting lightheaded.
Agency Rep: Dexter’s brush. Wire or plastic bristles?
Me: Neither. I prefer nylon. Distributes skin oils evenly.
Agency Rep: Impressive. A trap question, and you managed to avoid getting caught in the snare. Let’s see if that unanticipated demonstration of mental acumen was a fluke, a monkey-typing-out-Hamlet moment. My guess is it was, but I’m willing to keep an open mind. Sort of. Next question: Would you take Dexter to a dog park?
Me: Only after researching the park thoroughly, like their fencing, water access, vaccines, neuter policy, size segregation – you know, big dogs separated from the little ones.
Agency Rep: Bravo. You managed to save yourself again just as you’re teetering on the edge of a cliff.
Agency Rep: Your favorite movie?
Me: “Old Yeller” is my favorite old movie and “Marley & Me” from contemporary times.
Agency Rep: Why would you traumatize Dexter with “Marley and Me?” Dexter is highly sensitive and would be crushed from the tear-jerking sadness of Marley crossing the Rainbow Bridge. How cruel. I should issue a penalty of 50 points, but I am feeling extra goodhearted today. Sort of. One point off. You’re at 75. Again.
Me: I’m getting very upset at the thought of losing out on Dexter.
Agency Rep: Emotional fragility. That’s another red flag. But perhaps not a dealbreaker. Here’s our final question. Keep in mind that you are right on the cusp, treading ever so precariously on the slimmest of thresholds between a life with Dexter or, tragically for you, an empty, barren life without. The question is, what is it about Dexter that makes you want to share your home with him?
Me: Dexter came into this world full of innocence and sweetness. He didn’t deserve to be abandoned. With us, he’ll have unconditional love, care, nutritious food, playtime, vet checkups, safe socialization, and most of all he’ll be family, showered with affection.
Agency Rep: Dexter hates showers.
Me: Did I say showered? Silly me. I meant bathed. Bathed with affection.
Agency Rep: You beat the buzzer with your corrected answer by a millisecond. That makes you a qualified adopter. I suppose congratulations are in order. Sort of. You may disengage from the polygraph wires and turn off that third degree laser-like light shining directly into your eyes. We can only hope it didn’t cause permanent damage to your retina. After all, Dexter is not trained to be a seeing eye dog.
Me: Yay! I’ll go get Dexter, give him the biggest hug ever, sing him a calming song, and explain all about his new family and new home.
Agency Rep: Just one moment. I want to emphasize that you were one wrong answer away from Dexter being awarded to another family. Dexter deserves someone who can score better than a C- on a life assessment, which is but a whisper above utter worthlessness. You have some real work to do. Fortunately, Dexter will be praying for you. As will I. Sort of.
Me: Thank you for everything. You’ve been great.
Agency Rep: You mean it?
Clutching the leash as I helped Dexter into the car, I turned and replied, “Sort of.”
