the rescued
It's quite alright. Come forward, I will not bite. You probably can not tell, but I was third in line when I was rescued. I do not know what happened to those behind me. I do know that we all did not know our mothers and fathers, and we'd cry in the night. Next thing I remember was shivering, shaking hard, being lifted up, my sore bony ribs wrapped into a soiled blanket. I broke away and ran up to a fence. I hate fences, but I stayed. It's why I circle before I sleep, to check escape openings. But I don't think I'm leaving.
You may touch me. Not so bad, now. I love the warm kitchen, and I have a steel dish with my name glued on it. See my name around my neck. Food is so much better here. Especially when I hear my name and tender meat is given to me from above. For that I bring them shoes in the hall.
One thing bad. Sometimes I hear the newspaper being slowly rolled up, and I know I'm in a world of hurt. Like one time I dove at stupid cat making a play for buzzing fly at the windowsill, only the window was there in front of me like right now. Over and over again, I do not understand. Please sit beside me. Pardon this kiss. Anyway...Master laughs at cat but it drives me batty. So I dive and next thing I know it's rolled newspaper where it hurts.
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5 Comments:
I could stay in this place forever ...
I hate that rolled-up newspaper, especially the Wall St. Journal. I'm more of a canine liberal.
Awww. I liked this.
=)
I circle before I sleep too...
"A Vagabond's Sketchbook" has been included in the A Sunday Drive for this week. Be assured that I hope this helps to point even more new visitors in your direction.
http://asthecrackerheadcrumbles.blogspot.com/2014/05/a-sunday-drive.html
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