November 25th 2012 8:13 am
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I have a sad tale to tell of a little Brindly dog, forced to abdicate from a royal life in Suburbia to the cold realities of a Shelter, only to be rescued into Foster Care as Rental Dog Sophie, then adopted into her Furever Home.
Wednesday was the two year anniversary of my "Gotcha Day," the day that I went from Rental Dog Sophie to Rent-to-Own Sophie, and was able to regain my status as a royal denizen of Suburbia, although a different Suburb, different family. Perhaps I expected a nibbly morsel of a treat, or a pat on my head. This is what a got: Sent to the kennel. To make it far, far, worse, I knew that Oldest Lad was going to be home, yes, Officer Oldest Lad was going to be home from Louisville in a scant few hours. Unfortunately, Kennel Drop-Off hours ended at six, and Oldest Lad was not going to be home until near that hour. In his bereavement, he did not want to arrive at home to greet me and Pennie, only to have us summarily shuttled off to the shelter. Instead, he chose just to have us "gone," so that he did not have to say "hello" followed immediately by "good-bye."
Daisy, who had been staying with us since Monday, was still at the house, due to be returned to her home by Oldest Lad on Thursday, while Mom and Dad were already driving their way up to Cleveland with Middle Lad, Little Lad, and Wee Lass. Oldest Lad claimed that he could at least sleep with Daisy on Wednesday night, in the absence of Sophie and Pennie. As Oldest Lad shared living quarters with Daisy for two years while living with Daisy's Man, I was not jealous, just saddened that it could not be Daisy, Pennie and ME sleeping with Oldest Lad.
At the kennel, the cold steel bars of the kennel run closed in about me. I refused to look at Mom, even in a Sophathetic Stare. I knew that my refusal to grant a Sophathetic Stare made Mom feel even worse. Mom had even asked Dad if perhaps I could join the family in Cleveland. I bear no animosity towards CATS. Grandma, Dad's Mom, has a CAT, and it would be disrespectful to allow Pennie to consume that Cat. Still, that did not mean that I could not go and enjoy Thanksgiving, did it?
Grandma also has an overgrown Golden Retriever named Scoter. He is an affable fellow, but not very bright, nor very Alpha. However, as his breed name would suggest, he does do one thing well: Retrieve. While I certainly expected Mom to pet and pay attention to Scoter, especially in her bereavement over the holiday absence of Myself, Scoter went too far. It was fine for Scoter to pay attention to Mom and Mom to reply back. However, Scoter stole Mom's slipper. Yes, while Mom was curled up in her customary book-reading-curl, that overgrown purebred stole Mom's slipper, and drooled all over it, while carrying it about the house, like a trophy celebrating that HE hiked with Mom at the Cleveland Metroparks, and HE ate Thanksgiving Dinner with Mom and HE did not celebrate his Gotcha Day abandoned. He marked Mom's slipper with his breath and his drool and his stupid insensitivity. THAT was going too far.
I shall never Retrieve my second Gotcha Day. It is a poor Sophathetic memory of abandonment and absence from even a chance to spend a few blissful moments in the arms of my beloved Oldest Lad. My Thanksgiving was spent crunching cold hard kibble, on a cold hard concrete floor, with only a thin blanket from home to ward off the chill. I shall have to make sure Mom pays for all this, but I am doomed for a bath first.
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All that AND a bath???? Sheesh! You need mashed potatoes and gravy immediately!
Geesh, I think this is the stuff Dickens wrote about.
OMD, dis are a tragedy!
Howy CWAP!! Zoe r wite 'bout it bein' sumfing Dickens wooda wited 'bout. Wemme gess - yu wuz forced tu beg fur bits ob wancid kibble out in da fetid stweets, tu?? Unbewiebable, sweet gurl.
And I was boxed up today. A very large box arrived today and it had "Fragile" marked on the side. Of course Mom immediately thought of "A Christmas Story," and thought "Fragile, it must be Italian."
So Mom put me in the box, and took a picture. At least I was not turned into a tacky leg lamp.
The box contained a large light up plastic Easter Rabbit. I believe that on Pennie's page there may be some pictures of our exceedingly tacky Christmas light displays. This year there shall be an Easter Rabbit standing in line.