who dat? contest.
(yo stee. i know
singer hope sandoval
first correct answer:
So a few days ago I mentioned that a friend of mine saw a little dog get hit by a car and stopped traffic and took it to the pound. He called a rescue place and they agreed to take the dog once it had outlasted its stay at the pound. So he went to the vet where the little dog was being given one day to be adopted -- without even being out where anyone could know of his existence -- before being put down. Luckily there were no clerical errors and he found the dog and after going through tons of red tape, was allowed to take it to the vet. The woman at the rescue organization agreed to pay for the vet visit, so my friend took the dog and it was announced he had a fractured pelvis, and simply required some cage rest.
My friend told me what was going on and I asked everyone I knew. I posted it on the forum. I wrote about it here. One nice woman responded, but she lives in Dallas or something. This is hard. This is very hard. I've talked about it before, but the notion of stray, hurt, lost, abandoned, mistreated, ignored animals troubles me to my soul. Troubles me, I must admit, almost more than the idea of humans being hurt or lost or mistreated. It just does. Perhaps because they are more defenseless somehow (not than a child, I know) and are assumed by many to have no feelings and because it doesn't have to happen like it does. People can spay or neuter their animals. It's not hard. It's very easy, in fact, and anyway, these people have made a decision to take care of an animal. (Most shelters do it automatically.) But owners often don't. People are stupid and lazy and bad.
Perhaps I am just a softy. I probably am. But the above has been bothering me very much. I know I cannot take the dog, for numerous reasons, but I didn't want my friend to give up until he found a home. I didn't want the pound to kill it by mistake or the vet to recommend it being put down or the rescue organization being to taxed already with wards. So today I called him to find out what's happening... and he's going to keep the dog himself! He talked to his allergic roommate and the roommate agreed to make it work somehow. Maybe the dog lives only outside or only in part of the house or maybe he's not so allergic anymore. I am desperately happy about this. My friend could have done nothing. Hell, I might even have done nothing. But not only did he do something, he did everything. And he's as busy as anyone I know right now. There is no excuse, people.
I'm going to go see the dog in a couple days. He's living in a little cage to minimize his movement -- being let out occasionally to use the bathroom. He hasn't barked once. Just wants to be around people. Isn't needy. Is housebroken. Is sweet and smart and seems to hold no grudge from the world being so unkind. Now my friend is trying to name him. He's going to keep him. He really is. What a fucking guy.
And ever since Stella, I've been too afraid to get another puppy. Not only do I really not have the time and my landlord doesn't allow it (though that didn't keep me the first time), but I'm just scared to get that attached to something small and helpless again. And now I have Olive, who I already find myself worrying about, even though she's young and stays inside and seems quite healthy. That part of why I wanted so to get this new apartment. But now the wait will be even longer. I guess in the meantime I'll try not to fixate on what's happening down at the pound every day and just think of this hurt little Pomeranian mix that through a random series of events one afternoon in the valley, found a home.
Oh I could hide 'neath the wings of the bluebird as she sings. The six o'clock alarm would never ring. But it rings and I rise, wipe the sleep out of my eyes. My shaving razor's cold and it stings. Cheer up, sleepy Jean, oh what can it mean, to a daydream believer and a homecoming queen? You once thought of me as a white knight on a steed. Now you know how happy I can be. Oh, and our good time starts and ends, without dollar one to spend. But how much baby do we really need? Cheer up, sleepy Jean, oh what can it mean, to a daydream believer and a homecoming queen?... speaking of which. I was our homecoming queen, y'all. I was. I was. It was 1986 and I was up against... oh that bitch... what was her name? You know, that bitch with the yellow car that I always wanted. And I beat her by one vote. I did. One vote, y'all. It was 16 to 15 or some shit like that. And anyway, well, I won. I really won. But the fuckers took it away from me cuz I was like 10 months pregnant or some bullshit by the time the homecoming thing was supposed to take place. So they took it away from me. I cried and cried, but it was OK because on the night of homecoming, my boyfriend brought over some really great weed and we smoked we fucked and just made fun of that bitch all night. And he made me a crown out of some fishing line and bait. It didn't smell so good but we pretended and that was better than anything. It was. It was. And then the little fucker was born the next week, so I had a baby while that bitch just had the stupid title. But where is she now, huh? Nowhere. That's right, y'all. So fuck my school. Seriously. Seriously, y'all. That's my attitude. Fuck it. When life gives you lemons, just make orange juice out of them, cuz then you'll have something to drink in case you get thirsty!
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