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Hello, humans. Trinity here, and as you know, I write this piece periodically, since my pet Doug’s vocabulary and understanding of dog logic is limited. He’s cute though, and we love the shaggy lug here at the house.
I apologize for the long stretch between articles. I’ve just been so dog-gon listless since he put me on the diet. My feet are moving faster, but the tail’s wagging slower. A cup and a half in the morning, and a cup and a half at night? You call that living?
It all started when his old friend, Scotty Moore re-opened his Vet Clinic, and I was pooping like there was no tomorrow. Dire Reea or something like that. All I know is the time spent hunched over a bush was much shorter than normal. So he takes me to this Moore guy, who stares at my butt hole like it’s a tourist attraction or something, and then asks, “What are you FEEDING this guy?”
Doug explained how he’s giving me a good, dry Iams product, mixed with “reduced-fat,” (which frankly, tastes like diced cardboard). The doctor asks, “A cup and a half in the morning and the same at night?” to which my guy says “Heck no; I just put it in huge bowls and him and Trina eat when they want.” When Doc rolls his eyes, my guy added, “they’re very responsible about it though.” I’m thinking, “Oh, NICE one, stupid! Why don’t you tell him about the pizza too!”
This Moore guy’s laughing and says, “No, NO! Don’t feed him anything tonight, and starting tomorrow, just the cup and a half, twice a day.” Doug quips, “But tonight is pork chop night.” They both chuckle again, and then it’s back to lifting up my tail for another peek up my a-hole. I’m thinking, “Even a peep show costs a quarter. At least toss me a biscuit if you want to treat my rump like a kaleidoscope.”
So anyhoo, I still can’t get my butt through the pet door anymore, but I must admit, my stool is a bit more consistent. Ya gotta love a consistent stool. You probably didn’t know it, but our last thought before turning and aimlessly kicking dirt is something like, “Hm-m-m; that’s a nice one. I can’t wait to show my friends.”
Trina, my lovely, little brunette fiancée is doing just great, and we need to get her picture up here with ours. I truly love that bitch and had hoped to marry her on Valentines Day. Make an honest spaniel out of her, so to speak. It never happened, but I gave her a Valentine’s licking she won’t soon forget.
I’m told we can’t have pups anyway, but hopefully we can adopt. I wouldn’t mind having a cute little Chihuahua or a Peekingniece. I’ve always been a nurturer and Trina’s biological clock is ticking. Or should I say her biological tick is clocking, ha ha. (That’s a little dog humor, which is much like your own, except funnier).
We’ve all been worrying about Joey, whose photo – with ribs in easy view – was in the paper recently. Some barely human had starved and dumped him to fend for himself, but I’m told he’s finally found a loving home, thanks to authorities and the good folks at the Humane Society.
That sad photo was enough to make me puke on the couch cushion. I’m told my bark is worse than my bite, but if I could corner the creep who did that to Joey, I’d bite him so hard, his testicles would shrivel up. Like I said to Trina the other day as I sniffed her lovely, fragrant keester, “What animals these humans be.”
That native American, president fella, Bearclaw I believe his name is, has the shelter running smoothly now, and I hear it’s a much nicer place to stay than when I called it home. Back in MY day, there were no kennels to romp in, and we’d spend our afternoons chained to stakes outside. A fellow named Cal Todd, God rest his soul, put a stop to that nonsense by financing the large playpens.
Nope, we had no playpens and had to walk to school in knee-deep snow. Pups these days have it too nice, I’m afraid. Expensive toys, groomers, violent video games – that’s why they sometimes join packs when they’re teenagers. When I was growing up, we were lucky to have a chew toy, and watching an ant crawl across the floor was our video game.
But seriously folks, any kind of improvements that come to the shelter, I’m happy as a cat rolling in tuna about. No matter HOW much conditions might improve, it’s not a fun place to be. It’s lonely and it’s scary. Everyone, even humans, need to feel connected. In order to feel that, one must have a real home and quality, consistent affection. The girls out there do the best they can, but how much real attention can one animal get when so many lonely, homeless animals are reaching out?
And what really sticks in my craw, is when we’d see some lucky dog dance out that shelter door with its tail wagging because it finally found a home. Then a few days later, we’d see that same poor soul coming back in – its tail suddenly lifeless and dragging. All because this so-called savior “didn’t realize he digs holes,” or “she barked too much,” or “the kids lost interest, so we…”
I wish these cat-breath idiots could imagine being abandoned as a child, thrown in a cage somewhere with little attention, then finally adopted by a family who promised to love them. Then, when they wet the bed once, or make some noise that wakes someone, their unfeeling family takes them back to the cage. I wish they’d know how it feels to be locked back in there, watching the family take another child for their probation period.
Are they that stupid and heartless? Do they really imagine that in the excitement of new surroundings, a vulnerable animal can understand and obey every rule? It’s crueler than if they’d never shown an interest in the first place.
Well, that’s enough for now, because I’m getting myself all depressed. Trina’s pawing at the carpet like she wants to wrestle, and since it’s after noon, I should wake up my pet Doug. I’d let him sleep longer, but the cats are getting an attitude and need fed. I joke about the kitties, but I love them little scamps and their frolicking shenanigans.
Please don’t repeat that though. I’m a big guy, and I’ve got an image. And please support your Humane Society with your gifts and time. My brothers and sisters abandoned out there base all their hopes and dreams in you and your heart. May God bless you, and may your stool be consistent and regular. Happy trails.
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