Let the Sun Shine Out
After a couple weeks of rainy days (or at least afternoons), it's finally starting to look like Spring here in the bucktooth state. Because one of my classes is already done for the term (98.3 arbitrary average awarded by the prof), I now have Wednesdays off, so I rode my bike down to the Humane Society this afternoon to take some leisurely strolls with the poochers, as opposed to being stuck indoors due to the rain and getting clawed by the claustrophobic citties (though I did say hi to a few half-dozen at the end of the day).
No recent adoption news, even though Black Jack was featured on television, some random lady in the parking lot told me. I guess that media outlet doesn't work its magic as well here as it did in Colorado. Ben has been around for a while, but they finally have a photo.
Cotton had an Elizabethan collar a few weeks ago, but is better now. Lovely soft coat on her, but darted around like a fox outside, i.e., seemed rather wild, skittish, afraid of the noise of traffic. Seems more at home in her kennel, poor thing.
Brenda was another blonde (not pictured) furball who was just as sweet as can be. Shut her eyes in joy when you scritched her chest. So I'm getting her for Ainsley's parents for Father's Day. (Shh! It's a surprise!)
Degu I think is new-ish, and was very barky indoors, very aloof outdoors. Looked at me sideways. Perhaps I was pronouncing his name wrong. Perhaps he doesn't like his name. Perhaps he wants to be a "Charlie."
I had been enjoying my day, though I was concerned that the way some of these dogs were acting, I felt like it was their first time outside all day, even though it was 4 o'clock in the afternoon. Some of these pups are trying their hardest, and probably painfullest, to be housebroken. So finally, we'll come to Joey, and another experience that makes me glad I'm leaving this damn town in three weeks.
He was practically stepping on his tiptoes, if you can picture a dog doing that, leaning against the front of the kennel. Behind him was a Leaning Tower of Poopa, and then a large pool of chunky brown liquid that I hoped was vomit and not something from his other end. "Are you sick, buddy?" I asked him, as he gingerly stepped into my leash. Outside, his tail was wagging, and he seemed spry and happy. But I wasn't about to put him back in that kennel. I took him back in through the front, and stood at the front desk until I could ask someone who among them was a kennel manager type person if one existed. I would clean it myself, I would tell them, if they would just tell me where to put Joey, and where their cleaning stuff was.
Just then, one of the employees came up and told Cruella de Beyotch that there was something wrong with Joey's kennel. So I sat on a chair while Joey whined at the rabbits, and she came back and said, "Yeah, he got sick. Someone must have fed him one too many biscuits. I cleaned it up."
"Well," I said. "Joey says 'thank you'."
And when I got back there, el steamo pile de grande was gone, but it looked as if the entire floor had been wiped twice with an old shirt soaked in gravy.
At least he had a path to his bed and to the outside.
But.
I'm hoping I'll have a chance to talk to the director when I let them know I'm leaving (he wasn't in today). Perhaps give them a few tips. Drop off a few Lysol wipes, per chance.
No recent adoption news, even though Black Jack was featured on television, some random lady in the parking lot told me. I guess that media outlet doesn't work its magic as well here as it did in Colorado. Ben has been around for a while, but they finally have a photo.
Cotton had an Elizabethan collar a few weeks ago, but is better now. Lovely soft coat on her, but darted around like a fox outside, i.e., seemed rather wild, skittish, afraid of the noise of traffic. Seems more at home in her kennel, poor thing.
Brenda was another blonde (not pictured) furball who was just as sweet as can be. Shut her eyes in joy when you scritched her chest. So I'm getting her for Ainsley's parents for Father's Day. (Shh! It's a surprise!)
Degu I think is new-ish, and was very barky indoors, very aloof outdoors. Looked at me sideways. Perhaps I was pronouncing his name wrong. Perhaps he doesn't like his name. Perhaps he wants to be a "Charlie."
I had been enjoying my day, though I was concerned that the way some of these dogs were acting, I felt like it was their first time outside all day, even though it was 4 o'clock in the afternoon. Some of these pups are trying their hardest, and probably painfullest, to be housebroken. So finally, we'll come to Joey, and another experience that makes me glad I'm leaving this damn town in three weeks.
He was practically stepping on his tiptoes, if you can picture a dog doing that, leaning against the front of the kennel. Behind him was a Leaning Tower of Poopa, and then a large pool of chunky brown liquid that I hoped was vomit and not something from his other end. "Are you sick, buddy?" I asked him, as he gingerly stepped into my leash. Outside, his tail was wagging, and he seemed spry and happy. But I wasn't about to put him back in that kennel. I took him back in through the front, and stood at the front desk until I could ask someone who among them was a kennel manager type person if one existed. I would clean it myself, I would tell them, if they would just tell me where to put Joey, and where their cleaning stuff was.
Just then, one of the employees came up and told Cruella de Beyotch that there was something wrong with Joey's kennel. So I sat on a chair while Joey whined at the rabbits, and she came back and said, "Yeah, he got sick. Someone must have fed him one too many biscuits. I cleaned it up."
"Well," I said. "Joey says 'thank you'."
And when I got back there, el steamo pile de grande was gone, but it looked as if the entire floor had been wiped twice with an old shirt soaked in gravy.
At least he had a path to his bed and to the outside.
But.
I'm hoping I'll have a chance to talk to the director when I let them know I'm leaving (he wasn't in today). Perhaps give them a few tips. Drop off a few Lysol wipes, per chance.
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