Can I Live With You?

Three weeks this Monday, my husband returned from visiting his mother. When he arrived home, he stared at something on the road. Since I stood on the porch, I couldn't see what it was, but I got curious. I walked to the fence and he told me, "A puppy." Well, our two big dogs started their ferocious "hey-I-live-here-and-I-don't-like-you" growling barks. Then I saw the puppy. It ran as fast as its tiny legs could carry it across the road into the neighbor's yard. My husband said, "It must belong to them, but they need to keep it where it won't get run over." He came on into the yard and I helped him carry things from the back of his pickup. He looked up and saw the puppy peeking through our fence. I told him to put our wonderful protective guard dogs (well, that's what they think they are, and they're really good bluffers, but...sssh, don't let the word get out!) in the house. Then I approached the fence. The puppy had ran off again to the opposite side, but when it saw me, it came in a hurry. It wore that heartbreaking, pitiful, "Will you help me? I'm lost," expression. It tried so hard to claw through the chain link. My husband, all six feet of him, came up and reached over with one hand. This is what we got and it was obvious it belonged to no one. Can you blame us for adopting it?