This will likely be one of those periods in my life that I will look back on and say, “Did that really happen, or was it all the lighter fluid I was drinking at the time?”

We were nearing the end of our pre-designated trial period with Annie. It was time to decide if we were a compatible family for her and vice versa. We were also working against a kind of biological deadline. Let’s just say that Annie was looking out the window at all the boy dogs and barking, “Work it! Work it, baby!” If we were to keep her, she would have to be spayed. If she was going to return home, she would be allowed to breed. If I were in her place, I know what I’d want.

It had been apparent early on in the relationship that there was some strain between Annie and my parents.

There were the normal issues related to everyone adjusting to each other; the early morning dog-tongue-in-the-face alarm clock, the aggressive defensiveness of the house, the sudden dissolution of quiet time in the evening, and one of us, I won’t name any names, had a bladder control problem whenever new people visited the house.

This was normal doggie behavior, behavior that could be modified with time and patience. The fundamental problem was our different personalities. Annie was an excitable, high-energy dog. We are dull, low-energy people. I don’t mean “dull,” in a negative sense, I just mean that we are not really prone to running around the yard and wrestling in the living room unless we have to.

This discrepancy would have been apparent even before we took her in for a few weeks if we had done more reading beforehand. However, the opportunity presented itself so suddenly, and it all happened so quickly, I barely had time to buy a doggie dish and a pooper scooper before she came to our house.

Our biggest concern was that we could not provide Annie with the attention and exercise that she needed. Our respective schedules meant that she was alone for a sizable chunk of the day. Aside from that, even when we were home, we were each only capable of an hour or two of catch, chases, and walkies before A) it was time to go to bed, or B) we collapsed from exhaustion on the nearest piece of furniture.

Annie was not the type of dog to settle down your chair with you, or gnaw on a bone for a while. If one could somehow harness the energy of a Jack Russell Terrier, the world would find itself rich in clean energy that was almost pollution free (you know, aside from poopies). While she did settle down for a nap from time to time, she was capable of going from 0 to 60 in half a second when a car door slammed outside, or the heater turned on.

Natural behavior. I know. She’ll settle with time. I know.

As I mentioned, this was only our primary concern. There were a number of factors that led us to decide that we should bring her back to her brothers and sisters at the breeder’s home. Not an easy decision, because frankly, Annie was such a sweetheart.

I told my parents that I would support whatever decision they made. It had largely been their choice to try and adopt Annie, so I was going to let it be their choice to send her back home or not. But, by the end of the trial period, I feeling the same strain that so thoroughly effected them, and I began to support the, “We’re not the right family for her,” position.

In the end, everyone is still happy. Peace and quite has returned to the house, and Annie gets to go home to raise her own litter.