I've Been Through the Dayton on a Dog with No Name

Thursday's visit to the Humane Society was frustrating; the problem is I have the one in Colorado Springs to compare it to, and I don't think anything will ever match up. There, the volunteers (seemingly hundreds of them) were made to feel a part of the team. They got nametags and smocks and, I don't know, what's that thing called, oh yes: training. I've been going here for over six months, and I still only know two people's names, and they weren't there on Thursday, so I just grabbed a leash and started walking dogs. (The head honcho does usually say hello and seems genuinely pleased that I'm there -- not that he's ever introduced himself.) But the kennels were a mess, I had to give fill four empty dog bowls with water, and it seemed louder than usual. It just doesn't seem like there's much dedicated attention placed on those pups in the back. They don't even have names up on half the kennels, so I was walking dogs I knew nothing about. I wanted to growl at people myself.
But I'm not there for the employees. Most of the dogs from last week were still there, except for the boxer that got adopted that afternoon. My friend the Rottweiler is looking a little better, but he has worms and won't be healthy and adoptable for a while. The only pic the shelter has available is for "JC", who looks like a combination of a pit bull and Don King's hair, but she was very sweet.


My son is three months old today. He goes in for another checkup on Monday.

The apartment next to me, vacated last month, is being shown as I type. Pardon me while I scare them off with some random screaming and cackling. I need it quiet for study time...