I went to our local shelter today. It is a no-kill rescue. The dogs are walked twice a day. The cats are petted and cared for. I gave one little guy a bath because he had soiled his crate. I threw away a clump of his hair with feces on it in a garbage can that held dog food. They had to throw away all the dog food. A convict washed out the can with Clorox.
I took the little dog for a walk outside. His backend is wonky, but he got going. I kept him away from a Pit Bull, but I was frightened. I brought him back inside, put him back in his crate, and started to fill out an application. I didn't finish it.
I left, and Romeo and Juliet smothered me with kisses on the way to the path. I knew I was allergic to them. But I let them. They need to be adopted together because she cannot survive without him. Her heart is too big and she has a murmur. I came home and took a Benadryl and a shower. Everyone says, "You'll know when it's your dog." I believe that. But I am having trouble with knowing they are not my dogs. I have been sheltered.
Via The Metropolitan Museum of Art.
