Proof that I've completely lost my mind

We got another dog.
No, this isn't April Fool's.
The Welsh Springer Spaniel Club of America has a rescue coordinator who regularly combs petfinder.com and other places, looking to make sure no Welsh end up in shelters. When she finds one, she asks a volunteer to go out and verify that it's a Welsh, then someone will pull the dog from the shelter before it gets euthanized. Someone then provides a foster home until a suitable home can be found for the dog (or until the breeder can be tracked down to take it, if willing). It's really rare to see a Welsh in a shelter because they're a really rare breed, and the breeders have always been very diligent in finding the right homes for their puppies. Sometimes one slips through the cracks, though.
So, there was this Welsh in a shelter up in Green Bay, listed as a Brittany mix. This is one of the hard parts about finding Welsh — because so few people know what they look like, they're often mislisted as Brittanys, English Springers, cocker mixes, etc. One of the club members went up to verify that it was a Welsh, and said yes, he definitely is, but with a long tail, and not very well-bred. But, he got adopted by someone who was in line ahead of her (they went by when you got there to look at him). Good news. But then rescue got a call last week saying he'd been returned (after only 10 days).
So the call went out for a foster home. I raised my hand without a second thought. (Those of you who have had to listen to one of my diatribes about homeless and mistreated dogs probably have some inkling of how important the problem is to me.) The woman who ID'd him as a Welsh was willing to meet me in Milwaukee with him (halfway between Green Bay and Chicago). She couldn't keep him because she has a dog in heat and another one pregnant, and it would be too much risk to the pregnancy to have that stress. We were pretty much the next closest people.
So, I go to Milwaukee and pick him up. Here's his story — but we're not sure how accurate it is, because people who surrender dogs to shelters frequently lie to make themselves look better (I won't give my thoughts about these people). Anyway, his name is Riley, and the vet who neutered him on Wednesday places his age between two and four (I'd say closer to two). He was apparently owned by a single woman "whose circumstances changed," and who could no longer keep him. So, she gave him to her sister. The sister, though, had a family and dog and cat of her own, and after three months gave him to the shelter. But get this: I have the surrender form that this woman filled out, and she didn't know his birth date (or age), his breed, if he knew any tricks. Under favorite toy/activity, she wrote: walking. Good riddance, I say.
So, another woman adopted him the day after he got to the shelter. But she took him back 10 days later, saying that he "didn't get along with her husband." Sounds to me like she brought him home and hubby didn't like the dog. Good riddance to her, too.
So, the shelter has him and has now listed him as an Irish Red & White Setter. This breed is even more rare in the U.S. than Welsh, so it would shock me to find out that's what he really is. Our rescue coordinator finally convinces them that he's a Welsh, and that we should take him to find him a home.
I get up to Milwaukee to pick him up and my first thought is that he's the most confused dog I've ever seen. He has no idea where he is, or who we are, or what's going to happen to him. Poor baby. My second thought is, that's not a Welsh. Yep, we've just rescued an Irish Red & White Setter. At any rate, at least he won't be euthanized, and I know we'll find him a better home than what he's had.
He really is a sweet dog, and wants love so bad. But he's also had virtually no training, and is a huge handful. There is more energy in this dog than any Welsh I've ever seen. On the surrender form, the woman wrote, "Great dog, needs a master." Judging by the way he cowers whenever Joe stands up or raises his voice (like to yell at Seamus for attacking Riley — more on that later), I'd guess somebody's husband tried to be that master by yelling and hitting. I read a quote once, I think by Gandhi, that said, "Judge a society by the way it treats its animals," or something like that. But enough about those people.
Everything would be dandy — I know enough about dogs to train him and help him get over his man hang-up — but we rushed things with Seamus, and now he attacks Riley every time he sees him. So, not only do we have to re-introduce him, we have to undo the harm we did by rushing things. I think yesterday was more exhausting than being a bridesmaid in David's wedding. We're not just at square one right now, we're at square -2, I think. And all I wanted to do before this was sleep. Riley's crated in the basement right now, for his own safety and mental well-being. The last thing I want to do on top of all his other issues is make him dog-shy, because initially, that was one thing we didn't have to worry about. Now he's terrified of Seamus and Seamus knows it, and holds grudges. But, Riley's been crying for about eight hours straight. I go down and sit with him, and take him out, every couple of hours, but that sets Seamus off, so I pretty much alternate between hearing one dog howl and cry and hearing the other one do the same thing.
Meanwhile, I think the Donger likes Riley. Whenever I'm down in the basement with Riley, the Donger moves around a lot. Hopefully the issues will be dealt with and we will have found Riley a good home before the Donger meets him in person, though. If not, Riley's reportedly good with kids, so hopefully we won't have a problem with the introduction. I think Seamus is more of a potential problem in that regard, anyway.