I knew that going to the Vespa dealership was going to be just like going to the animal shelter. I was not going to leave empty-handed.

Take the time my husband, Paul, and I heard about a litter of puppies available for adoption at the Kennebec Valley Humane Society. “Let’s have a look-see,” I said. Of course, when I saw the 10 wriggling pitbull-lab mix dumplings, I wanted to take them all home. I grudgingly settled on one.

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A Vespa is not as cuddly as a puppy, but it is just as cute. I have wanted one of the stylish Italian motor scooters since I was a teenager. Since I didn’t know anyone who rode any kind of scooter, I’m assuming I was inspired by The Who’s album (and later, movie) “Quadrophenia.” The story features a confused young Englishman who joins a gang of scooter-riding “Mods” who face off against the motorcyclist “Rockers.”

So enamored was I of “Quadrophenia” that I made it a point to visit Brighton, site of a climactic scene, when I visited England shortly after graduating college.

I nurtured my love of scooters by renting mopeds on summer visits to places such as Newport, R.I., and Martha’s Vineyard. Buying one seemed like a pipe dream: unrealistic and unfeasible. As middle age approached, accompanied with a growing awareness of environmental issues and ever-rising gas prices, I began to think maybe I could justify a Vespa after all.

Vespas came into the limelight again a few years ago. People suddenly wanted to ride scooters for the same noble reasons I did — or, at least, that’s what they told news reporters. Really, they had probably seen “Quadrophenia” too.

So it was that when Paul and I took a weekend trip to Boston in 2008, we saw plenty of Vespas. I did a lot of oohing and aahing. It was my birthday, and Paul had brought my presents along for me to open first thing in the morning. “Now, I’ve got to tell you,” he said. “These are your gifts. It’s not that thing outside.”

I pushed open the curtains on the window of our bed and breakfast room and saw a shiny red Vespa chained to the lightpost on Commonwealth Avenue.

“Awwww…” I said.

By the end of that day, I had seen so many scooters I was sure some sort of Vespa event was in progress. The scooter gods were taunting me. My Vespa fever simmered all the way home on the Downeaster.

Thus began a flurry of investigations and considerations. A bottom-line Vespa was reasonably priced. I didn’t need a motorcycle license to drive one. The “S” series got 90 miles to the gallon. Since I didn’t think I’d drive it more than 20 miles per week, I’d only have to fill up its tiny gas tank every two months!

Still, I was not quite ready to make the plunge. Perhaps it was because my mother and my mother-in-law were elderly and fragile. My attention was focused on them. Mom died in 2009, and Rita the next year. This spring, I started to dream about Vespas again.

“If we go to the Vespa dealer on your birthday, you know you’re going to buy one,” Paul said.

So we went the Saturday before my birthday. There are only two Vespa dealers in Maine. We went to the closer of the two, in Topsham. As we drove down, I could see there might be a problem. There was no way I could drive a Vespa S, which goes 39 mph, tops, home from Topsham, even on Route 201. I did not share my worries with Paul, who still thought we were “just looking.”

Needless to say, once I drove a red Vespa S around the parking lot of the dealership, there was no turning back. And no worries about getting it home, either. They delivered. I bought a helmet and went home to count the days until my Vespa arrived — on my birthday.

After practicing around a few local parking lots, I hit the road. I was amazed at how liberating and exciting 15 mph can feel. That has been my top speed so far, and darn if it doesn’t feel fast. Um, and green.

Yessiree, the red Vespa is the ecological choice — for middle-aged Mods yearning to be free.

Liz Soares welcomes email at lsoares@gwi.net.