And Casey thinks he's so big and bad for slapping some guy.
On with it.
Friday, April 30, 2004
Casey's been a bit of a slut lately pressuring me to update, but then, that's what I love him for. (No, no it isn't.) So, for El Casey-Nova, my bitchy little muse, an update on my fabulous life.
Yesterday, Zack and I adopted, at long last, a dog: A fabulous one-year-old Shiba Inu named "Max" who's been in an out of my pet store at the finicky whims of several owners within the past month: The original couple bought him from the store about ten months ago, but grew impatient with him as they found they couldn't quite bend him to their will. They brought him back to the store just over a month ago now, handed the leash and his medical information to the first "Petland" shirt they saw, and walked away without saying a word. We put Max (then "Meyers", but he didn't respond to his name.) up for adoption at the cost of a one-hundred dollar donation to St. Jude's children's hospital, and it was then I first considered adopting him-- he was beautiful, after all, with a dark, wolf-like appeareance and feline mannerisms. I had wanted a dog for some time, and I started to think that perhaps he was the one I'd been looking for.
At that point, however, Zack was still unemployed and I had only begun to work at the store. There simply wasn't a hundred dollars to donate, and before I could even so much as finish the last two hours of my shift so that I could try to find the needed money, two hicks and their unfortunate son walked in and took the dog they then named Max on an impulse buy, due to his overly reasonable price. It was me who was forced to walk them through the process of buying needed accessories, and I was therefore privvy to jeweled insights into the personalities of Max's new guttertrash family, onesuch being when the mother practically hit her son for suggesting they buy a red collar for a boy dog. When they left with the dog I had wanted for my own, I sat down and cried.
Three days ago, however, a benevolent God smiled on the world: the hicks decided to get a divorce. This means two happy things: it's almost guaranteed they won't have any more cross-eyed offspring, at least with each other, and Max came back to the store to go through another adoption.
The next impulse buyer wasn't a hick...far from it. A physically perfect waitress from the cafe next store and her Adonis boyfriend decided to take Max home on a trial basis, and while, in this case, I couldn't object to any specific stupidity she had uttered, I found myself enraged that she had her looks, her perfect husband, her perfect house, and now, my dog, in addition to the dogs she already owned. It just wasn't fair.
And Max must have known that. Because he bit the perfect boyfriend. And now he's with me.
More on Max-- and his absolute genius in helping me escape my in-laws-- later. For now, I have to go earn his kibbles 'n' bits.
On with it.
Yesterday, Zack and I adopted, at long last, a dog: A fabulous one-year-old Shiba Inu named "Max" who's been in an out of my pet store at the finicky whims of several owners within the past month: The original couple bought him from the store about ten months ago, but grew impatient with him as they found they couldn't quite bend him to their will. They brought him back to the store just over a month ago now, handed the leash and his medical information to the first "Petland" shirt they saw, and walked away without saying a word. We put Max (then "Meyers", but he didn't respond to his name.) up for adoption at the cost of a one-hundred dollar donation to St. Jude's children's hospital, and it was then I first considered adopting him-- he was beautiful, after all, with a dark, wolf-like appeareance and feline mannerisms. I had wanted a dog for some time, and I started to think that perhaps he was the one I'd been looking for.
At that point, however, Zack was still unemployed and I had only begun to work at the store. There simply wasn't a hundred dollars to donate, and before I could even so much as finish the last two hours of my shift so that I could try to find the needed money, two hicks and their unfortunate son walked in and took the dog they then named Max on an impulse buy, due to his overly reasonable price. It was me who was forced to walk them through the process of buying needed accessories, and I was therefore privvy to jeweled insights into the personalities of Max's new guttertrash family, onesuch being when the mother practically hit her son for suggesting they buy a red collar for a boy dog. When they left with the dog I had wanted for my own, I sat down and cried.
Three days ago, however, a benevolent God smiled on the world: the hicks decided to get a divorce. This means two happy things: it's almost guaranteed they won't have any more cross-eyed offspring, at least with each other, and Max came back to the store to go through another adoption.
The next impulse buyer wasn't a hick...far from it. A physically perfect waitress from the cafe next store and her Adonis boyfriend decided to take Max home on a trial basis, and while, in this case, I couldn't object to any specific stupidity she had uttered, I found myself enraged that she had her looks, her perfect husband, her perfect house, and now, my dog, in addition to the dogs she already owned. It just wasn't fair.
And Max must have known that. Because he bit the perfect boyfriend. And now he's with me.
More on Max-- and his absolute genius in helping me escape my in-laws-- later. For now, I have to go earn his kibbles 'n' bits.
On with it.
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