Angry Parking Lot Lady

Dear Angry Parking Lot Lady,

I really do appreciate your concern for Luke and yes, my windows were cracked so approaching me with such venom did not help your case. I didn’t fight or kowtow to your righteous anger so threatening me was inappropriate.

And please if you feel my baby boy is in danger call the police. I would have been more than happy to talk to them. Especially, about the verbal assault you  were directing my way. It was 41 degrees out and you were wearing a coat, so I am failing to understand what I did wrong.

What you couldn’t see was his water cup or know that I was in the store less than ten minutes. Or that everyone of my furry children is adopted with the exception of Hrothgar, but he isn’t a furry and is in fact, a turtle.  And that I have called the police/animal control numerous times to help animals. I have crawled into storm drains to rescue kittens and spent over a hour calming a dog whose owner had chained him to a post on some truly cold nights.  And then there was the Christmas morning, I climbed a tree to get a certain Moo kitty down.  Ok, I wanted to climb the tree, but someone had a ladder and taller legs.

All you could see was your own self-righteous anger and wanted to give me a piece of your mind. It was a bit much to tell me that you didn’t appreciate me leaving him in the car or tell me that next time you would call the police repeating the words “Next time” while  slowly shaking when it is 41 degrees out. I know Luke doesn’t appreciate me leaving in the car, but the fabric store frowns on him licking the merchandise. He was still eating his treat from the pet store when I got back into the car.  Maybe I shouldn’t take him for car rides, but they are his very favorite thing and I am a sucker for his pretty face.

I get that you love animals and hate to see them abused so do I, but before you judge and attack someone take a step back and think.  Are you helping, hurting or just getting yourself upset?  Do you have all the facts? Is the animal in danger? Or are you reacting to something in your past?  You didn’t win a victory for animal rights or save a puppy, instead you got yourself upset, me tiffed and became the subject of a blog post.  Education works far better than venom. Next time try that or call the police when you see a dog in a locked car.  Just make sure you call the non-emergency number or animal control directly. I learned that lesson the hard way.



P.S. I am a writer working and this will be filed for use in a future plot.

A Home For Tank…

A Tank like puppy

I didn’t intend on getting a puppy dog. Honest.. I daydreamed about it, but after trying a couple of times to adopt off of pet finder I gave up trying for a while. Better to focus on getting my house in order than introducing a new member.

A week ago, there was a Chihuahua-mix wandering in the middle of the street.  When I called out to him, he put his tail between his legs and sat down there.  He just waited for me to come and get him.

We traveled from door to door until my neighbor Mikey opened his door and gave me little Tank’s tale.  As Mike and I chatted Tank kissed my ear.  His owners couldn’t afford to keep him anymore and he was constantly escaping from the yard.

It looked like no one was home and so I took the little guy back to my house to fetch a leash so I could keep him with me while I gardened and watched for his family.  They finally came looking for him forty-five minutes later and was surprised that I had him on a leash. I tried to explain the logic of putting him on it, but when his Momma came over she seemed want to rush him away.  I asked about giving him a home and she said she would ask her daughter.

The next day, I watched little Tank being handed over to another neighbor.  There was a disappointing thud in my heart. I had grown attached to the idea of Tank coming to live with me,but at least he had a home.  Walking by his new home, I would look and just hoping he was happy.

Yesterday morning a man was running after Tank as he rounded the corner of my house.  I said hello and asked after little Tank.  He was still looking for a home.  The man, whose name I never got, offered Tank to me.  I accepted and asked if I could pick him up after work.  Everything seemed good to go..

Tank, however, wasn’t home when I went to pick him. The man who opened the door in his superman boxers said he would bring him over later.  The only knock on the door was a friend who came over to help me attach the garden hose to the faucet.  He left with cookies and I busied myself with chores. The dishes are done, the floors swept and the laundry has been put away.  Just no puppy…

I am not sure what happened.

And the Universe says …


This morning the blues had me in its gasp.  Truth be told, I still am.. My brain traveling down roads which only serve to me further in the blues.

Going for a walk or the gym was too much for my mind so I opted for clearing the cobwebs out – literally – I am cleaning my house.  Number one on the list is the laundry.  As strange as it may sound, I hang my bras on back of the door knob.   (Sorry, if that is TMI, but it germane to my story)

Booger, my eldest furry child, was begging to go out.  My feet shuffled to the side door to let Whiny McWhinerton out and he managed to step into one of the bra strap; couldn’t go out the door since both legs were trapped in the one strap.  His face was so pathetic and confused at the same moment.

Laughter sprung from my heart. Enough said…

Thank you, Universe….

Booger’s Tale cont.

My mistress was always aggravated by the two men’s presence but her annoyance never seemed to disturb them. I believe one of them had some sort of leverage over her.  They never ceased in their attempts to converse with her. The large harry man smelled like another of my canine brethren, a female if my olfactory senses were precise.

Mistress called him Dog in a most disrespectful manner.  I did not comprehend why that was an insult. Mistress, however, seemed to think it was and so I let it go. There wasn’t much I could do anyway, the month or so I had been with Mistress we had never managed to communicate more than a word or two.  She seemed to be getting better, but there were times when I felt like she expected me to behave like one of her precious feline companions.

I tried my best to assimilate myself to their culture. My efforts were for the most part in vain.  The felines weren’t interested in bridging our cultural riff.  My abandonment had also led me to having a deficit in my own canine culture.

A deficit that was soon to be remedied; one afternoon, the tall man and the man named Dog, convened a meeting to discuss my future with Mistress.  We walked into Mr. Dog’s home and I was greeted by the female canine I smelled early. Her name was Mackie.

When I told her my name, she just chuckled.  Don’t worry, Dog and Stew will fix that little problem for you. She won’t explain just sniffed my rectal area.   It was a most disconcerting at first, the whole olfactory inspection, but oddly familiar.  Mackie completed her inspection while the hominids began their negotiations.

The tall man, whose name Mackie confirmed was Stew, was holding a strange leash and collar.  Mackie went to sit

by dog and I lay at the feet of my Mistress.  She was trying to protest, but Dog finally gave her an ultimatum, either she give me to the tall man or get rid of me.  She didn’t fight much after that, just handed me over to the tall man.  I was fond of him, he was my friend, and now my master.  I titled my head towards Mistress. She did nothing.

The new collar was metallic and seemed to pinch my neck, it wasn’t comfortable but I was delighted to be receiving the pets from the tall man,oh, I mean Stew,, no… Master. He had some treats and feed them to me while Mistress left.  I called after her, whimpered in hominid terms. I waited but she didn’t come back.


Mackie came over to me and licked my face. It’s ok, kid, Stew is your Pappa now, like Dog is mine.  Pappa? I didn’t comprehend what this new word meant or how it would change my life. Pappa led me out of the apartment and down the hall to his home.  His scent coated the apartment.  It wasn’t at all like Mistress home.

Pappa had food for me.  Good food, not that blasted Sam’s choice. Real food.  Fifteen minutes later, he led me to the yard to do my business.  “Go to potty .. Go poop..” it was a cruel command, however, I did feel a certain urge and so complied with the command.

Over the next week, I learned that the collar was meant to discipline me. It caused me to be reminiscent of when my mother would nip my neck for the same purpose.  Something that mistress had never done.  It was somewhat unpleasant, but it felt oddly right and Pappa was more gracious to me than her.  I didn’t have to sleep at the foot of the bed.  I now cuddled under the covers with him.  Cuddling…that is what he called it. A simple, but appropriate word.

Booger’s Tale

Once a upon a time, I had a really stupid name.  An incredibly stupid name. In fact, I believe this name lowered my IQ to the point where a formal education would have been a waste. It is good thing that I was born a canine.

In the icy land of Chicago, I was unceremonious dumped in the snow of the ghetto (pronounced ghet-toe) after being weaned from my mother, a lovely golden bitch.  How mother protected me that long, I will never know.  Nor, will I know why a dizzy brunette with a spray-on tan picked me up or why she was there on Christmas Eve, but never the less, I was rescued and taken to the suburbs.

I was introduced into an entirely feline and most assuredly feminine household.  The feline obsessiveness with cleanliness was obvious. Food scraps were never allowed to linger on the floor and the toilet lid was always shut.   The denial of the ability to forage for food and the lack of access to fresh water was intolerable.

It was here, that I was named Noel.  Yep, Noel, which in canine parlance basically means no.  Naturally, I was confused nearly all the time. No…Noel…No.. good boy Noel…It was insane.  I screamed constantly and was rewarded with treats and pets.  The insanity would only deepen in the months to come.

Naturally, I did not even understand the concept of time.  My adopted mother would explain all of these things to me. Her time, however, has not come in my story.   Timing, she taught me was very important; therefore, I must continue in order to respect the lessons that she taught me.

The felines interacted most cruelly with while the mistress was out, but shunned me the moment she walked in the door. Or worse, they would at times, feign interest and play with me in her presence.  Sometimes, they would even attempt to bathe me.

Soon, I developed a fear of any separation from her.  At night, I would snuggle as close as I could without upsetting the feline forces at the head of the bed.  The felines did teach me how satisfying compulsive licking can be.  It has been a coping mechanism that has served me well over the years.

The mistress thought it was cute along with everything else I did, except for when I urinated in the house.  The felines did it, but it was clear on this point my mistress displayed favoritism. They, however, were never chained outside while the mistress attempted to sunbathe in Chicago.

Mistress showered me with praise when I whined or expressed my dissatisfaction in anyway. When I was tied to the lead, she would smile and praise me for trying to reach her. I could never reach her no matter how I tried and this infuriated my sense of justice. How could she praise me when I never completed the task provided; I believe that humans call this having issues.

Occasionally, I would see a tall man shaking his head at her and another man would come up to Mistress and speak with her. I don’t know what they said, but the tall man was generous with his pets and I loved them both. Mistress, however, dismissed them each time they spoke to her. They would turn and walk away, but not before saying farewell to me.