Sometimes You Just Have To Feel Sorry For Dogs...

This morning is one of those mornings. 4:15 am. I am awaken with this god-awful crashing, running, banging, scrambling, tumbling noise in the attic, right over my head. It sounds, like it always does, as if whatever it is will come crashing through the air conditioner vent. This morning, as always, I start with throwing whatever I can get my hands on up at the ceiling. I don't know why I do this. It makes perfect sense to me in my sleepy-fog. I believe this will quiet the hoard and I can go blissfully back to sleep, never-mind the fact that the action will wake me up, in an of itself. Usually, it is the nearest bottle of vitamins or, my favorite, a half-full 20 oz Coke bottle (has enough weight to actually freak the little critters into a scared quiet). Alas, this morning, all I can put my hands on is a roll of packing tape so I give it the old heave-ho, not really thinking because of the sleepy-fog. The only thing I did different this morning was I turned over to throw it. Usually it's the old backhand, over the shoulder lop, but no not this morning. It had to be a really awe-inspiring pitch to stop that Mad Max movie-type crashing and banging. What happens, you ask? Yep, you guessed it, it comes reeling back down to earth right into my eye. OMG! I'm awake now, for sure and probably with a pending black eye to go with my job search.

I painfully get up, stumble into the bathroom, turn on the computer, head to the coffee maker, which is my usual routine. It is only then, I hear the dog. He is out back just barking his little head off, bewildered by the fact that he cannot get to the raccoons he know are up in the general direction of which he is barking. It's been 45 minutes now and I think he is about to give up, but you can just hear the frustration in his voice. I cannot help but think of scooby-doo and just know that he is grumbling, under his breath, in between his barks because he didn't get his scooby snack this morning. So as great as dogs are, sometimes you just have to feel sorry for them because of all that they can do, they cannot climb. It's just so sad....

Then there is the story of the puppy I was feeding because his asshole owners just left him to die when they moved. I was just about to get him to come to me after about a week of feeding him twice a day. He was so sweet and friendly and pretty smart and yes, funny too. Last week when it cooled off down to the 60's at night I guess he got cold, so he proceeded to tear all the stuffing out of an old couch that had been trashed out of his house. Oh, he had a grand ole time with it. The entire street in front of his house looked like it had snowed couch stuffing. I thought it was hilarious, but I knew the people across the street would not think it was funny and his days were numbered. But I hoped for the best and hoped they wouldn't do it...call the pound. But I guess they must have and as much as it pains me to say this, it was probably for the best because I know I would have ended up with him and Minnie(think scrappy-doo in cat form here) would have had an absolute hissy fit. She would have made his life pure hell. I can only hope someone will see him for the special dog he is and adopt him. It's just sad that I can't support all the homeless animals of the world. Do they have animal social workers? I think I might have missed my calling :)