Next week I am going to get fixed.
I didn't know I was broken.
I need to figure this out.
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TAKE ME TO THE DOG PARK OR I'M DRIVIN' MYSELF
Quincy speaks
I was adopted by two old hippies who think they are artists. They are pretty good to me and I think I've figured them out pretty well. Like, pitiful whimpering works really well, biting not so much.
Anyway, I was in this "rescue" place and when they came in I went over to the wall and stuck my face in the corner because I could tell the lady was gonna fall for that poor puppy routine. It worked. The man kept holding up fancy dancy dogs but she picked me and he went along with it. He shoulda tried that pitiful whimpering thing.
Anyway, I was in this "rescue" place and when they came in I went over to the wall and stuck my face in the corner because I could tell the lady was gonna fall for that poor puppy routine. It worked. The man kept holding up fancy dancy dogs but she picked me and he went along with it. He shoulda tried that pitiful whimpering thing.
My dog Mom is a Catahoula Leopard Dog, daddy was a travelin' man. Lots of people think he was a black lab. I guess because I have black fur and floppy ears. We'll probably never know.
So, now I live in a city with them and 2 other dogs called "cats" that just will not cooperate with me but I keep trying. Cities are pretty noisy but I'm getting used to it. There is no yard, but they keep promising to take me to a place called a dog park. I'm not sure what that is, but I hope there aren't any of those cat dogs there.
My new Dad writes a blog about peace and my new Mom writes one about art and they decided I should write one, too, if only to keep me busy I guess.
So, here I am, writing about how life looks from a foot off the ground. Life in a city. Life without opposable thumbs. Life in a land called, as far as I can tell, "nonobadoffdown".
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