Gimme a break.
‘Mmkay. So, I’m just doin’ some time in the OHS (Oregon Humane Society) chillin’. I’m innocent. Didn’t do nuthin’ wrong, but do I get a lawyer? No. No phone call, neither. Anyhow, I’m layin’ there in my cell and people walk by. Talk to me through the bars. Look me over.
Then, they see the ears. So what? I got weird ears. Big deal. But they move on. Lookin’ for a ‘puppy’ or a ‘cute’ dog or somebody with ‘normal’ ears. Whatever.
Then this teenage fairy godmother-type stops by and does all this baby talk. I’ve heard it all before, but I give her a few token wags and a wet one through the door. She gets all squealy. Says she thinks the ears are unique. Says she’ll be back. Yeah, heard that before, too.
My new owner. I'm thinkin' I'll keep her.
Waddaya know? She comes back!
And she brings this big hairy mook with her (not her dad, her dog, chowder head) and I’m tellin’ ya it’s love at first sight.
You know you want me, fatso.
I gotta have that fat boy. He plays hard to get. But I’m persistent, if you get my drift.
After the paperwork is signed, they spring me. I’m FREE, baybee. Livin’ large. I’ve buried 6 of those leather chew toys in the laundry, got jiggy with the fat boy’s head and made yellow water on the new carpet 3 times.
The teenage godmother’s mother made all these squealy noises.
They live next to this heeyouge park and my new boy-toy takes me for a swim.
Fat boy skinny dipping.
Me, skinny dipping
We mark a little territory.
Good times part duex.
It’s a good life.
Me, at the park.
My new master has named me Genevieve after that mutt in the Madeline books. You know, the dog the orphan kid rescued in the children’s classic: Madeline to the Rescue. Must be because my new owner’s name is Madeline.
Her mother calls me other names. But when nobody’s lookin’ she scratches my belly.