A poem I found about the mindset of a shelter dog. Spay and neuter your animas and, if you decide to get a pet, PLEASE get one from the shelter!!!!

Dear God,
What is “Time”?
I hear the sadness in the voices of workers here. They say my “Time is up”, that they have to make room for yet another dog.

My “Time” is up. I don’t know what that means, God. I only know that my new friends are so sad, and the more I wag my tail—the harder I try to make them feel better—the sadder they become.

I know I have heard that word “Time” before, but I don’t understand. When I was younger, my people would say “Time to play!” They would throw the ball, and I would run fast. Sometimes I brought it back to them, but other times we’d end up chasing each other having fun.

I remember “Time to eat”. My people would put down a bowl of food, and I would enjoy dinner, wagging my tail in joy. There was also “Time for your walk”. My boy would put my leash on, and we would go walking together, visiting the neighborhood and enjoying each other’s company.

When I was younger I thought “Time” meant fun. Or maybe Love?

I don’t understand. “Time” must mean something else, but how can it change, God? Before I came here, I heard my people say, “No time to feed you now, boy. Later, when I get home.” Sometimes my family would forget, and there was no food in my bowl.
Does “Time” mean when my belly hurts?

My people said there was no time for walks. I tried to hold it all day long– but God, I just couldn’t anymore. When I finally had to go, it made my family very angry.
Does “Time” means anger? Or maybe Loneliness?

My family said they didn’t have “Time”. They didn’t have time to play, or time to take me to the vet, or time to go for walks. They didn’t have “Time”, so they brought me here.

Maybe I was right… They said they didn’t have time, and if “Time” means Love, how did they lose it?
Did I do something wrong?

God, I think my new friends are sending me to you. Do you have “Time”? May I sit on the couch?

Am I a good Dog, God?
Is it “Time”?


My contacts have been bothering me for the past three weeks and it’s really starting to get annoying. It feels like I’ve either got little rocks navigating the circumference of my eyeball or like there’s a little feather in there tickling me. Either way, it blows monkey balls.

I have a dryer now. No washer, just a dryer. I don’t quite know how that’s going to work, but I’m sure I’ll figure something out. When Shel and I do laundry at the laundromat, we tend to do upwards of four loads per visit. So, we can’t even wash our clothes down there and then bring them back to our apartment to dry. I should quit whining and just focus on getting a washer.

What else is new? Nada. I’m feeling bad for my mom because she wrote me this morning and told me how sad she is right now. All of her kids have moved out of the house, her husband is four hours away and her dog is dead. She needs a new dog, a new bundle of furry energy that she can love and dote on. My dad doesn’t want a new dog right now, but to be honest, I think it should be my MOM’s decision, not his. She’s the one who’s missing Max and her kids like crazy, so if a new dog would make her happy – and it would – then he shouldn’t put up any resistance to getting one. That’s just my opinion, anyway.

There’s a car in the parking garage here at work and it’s a Monte Carlo, black w/ red racing stripes and a big #3 sticker in the rear window. Then, the license plate says #3FREVR w/ a license plate frame around it talking about Dale Earndheart. I think I spelled his name wrong, but you know what I mean. Yeah, so anyway, I’m looking at this car and not believing that some people could be so dorky! The man drove a car!! I will never, ever, as long as I live, understand NASCAR and people’s infatuation w/ it. I’ve decided that if I have children, they will be fed a steady course of football, baseball and swimming w/o any NASCAR in sight.

I want my kids to be swimmers. I think it’s a nice, safe sport.

That was random.

I’m frustrated w/ myself and my living condition right now. My apartment’s forever messy because Shel and I are too lazy to clean it up. Having a clean place to live should be a priority for me and it’s just not. I need to make it one, though. I really, really do.