We went to the shelter today (the second time in four days) to inquire about Bostons and visit the puppies, and the woman working said they knew of a a little runaway Boston that needed a home. I was completely spastic and immediately called the woman who found him. Apparently, he's already been promised to someone else, but the woman said she wasn't sure if that living situation was going to work out and would let me know tonight or tomorrow.
If we get that little rat, we're going to call him Francis Bacon. Lunchie always wanted a sister or brother named Francis, a name passed down the pet-line in my family which originated with Francis the Goat. Francis was a runaway goat that my (then-12-year-old grandmother) rescued during after one of the great floods in Louisiana in the 1930's. Because all of the houses had been damaged, most of the town slept in tents on top of the levee until it was safe to go back home. At night, she'd sneak the goat into her tent and my great-grandfather would hear it snorting. He'd say, "Leta Faye, I know that goddamned goat is in here. Get that thing out of this bed." And she'd giggle and tell the goat to be quiet, and pull it under the covers. He was gruff about getting the goat outside, but he let it sleep in the tent every night. :) And Bacon stands, of course, because he's a little pig.
Lunchbox will be so proud to have a baby brother. Please keep little unclaimed Francis Bacon in your thoughts tonight-- we hope he gets a happy, loving home, even if it can't be with us.