Lassie Come Home
Hey The Gerret wants to give a shout-out to my new friend here. He showed up in the ditch last week. A pup of maybe 12 weeks. He was a collegial dude with a cool attitude, but he had some problems. For starters he was trying to feed half the world's tick population all by himself, and his ribs were sticking so far out they needed to be pushed back in, and there was a lot a places where he needed new hair glued onto his body, and then there was that nasty discharge. It's hard to come up with that many problems in twelve weeks.
We'all figured he must have either been badly abused and abandoned by some a-hole (Chigger's and my personal opinion), or he'd gone on a hunger strike to protest the demeaning image of the drug-addled dog stereotype portrayed in Internet TV series such as Wilfred. (Maggie's opinion. Hey, she's just a puppy.)
Anyway, we tried to keep him around, but after a couple of days it was obvious that he needed more skills than we had to offer. So I says to him. The heck with pack etiquette. Give it to me straight. What do you need? Here's what he said. Cool? I swear he sounded just like Mick Jagger.
So we took him to the shelter where he could get proper medical attention. The sad part is that there's gonna be more like him before this war is over. We miss him. We're hoping he recovers and we're thinking we might see him again back here at the farm if everything works out. We named him Lassie. It just seemed right.