So I was in the slammer, see. I got brought in for running loose on the town. Pit bull running at large, they said. And so they brought me in. It was an ok place, the slammer. The people gave me my very own room made of fence and concrete, and I had a water bowl full of water, and they would bring food, too. Some of the people who worked there weren’t too sure about me — a pit bull. But there’s this test they give the dogs to decide whether they get to be in the nicer dog hotel in the front where all the people walk by or the sad dog hotel in the back where nobody ever goes except the workers. I knew I had to woo them, and I did. I wooed and wooed, and I got straight A’s on my test. They gave me a nice corner room right up front, where all the people would see me.
But the people would come and go, and nobody ever stopped to give me a pet or let me lick their paws and noses. I would sit right by the door like such a good boy and waggle my tail as hard as I could, and lick my lips with excitement, and I so much wanted them to love me that my whole body would tremble in anticipation. I guess they didn’t understand. I guess they couldn’t tell that I was just happy to see them.
Pretty soon, a nice lady showed up. She was young and smelled like Mexican food and laundry and she understood me. She would come and put me on a leash and take me out for walks. And on the Very Best Days she would take me to the enclosed grassy area where she would let me go and I would run and run. I would chase a toy and she would sit in the grass and I would sniff and roll around and I was happy. We were both happy. And then I would come lay beside her and rest my face on her chest. And sometimes she would cry.
A little while after I met Nice Lady, she started acting kind of funny. She would chat up everybody that would come to the slammer to look at dogs and lead them over to my room. Tell them how nice I am. What a good boy I am. What a great pet I would make. They never listened. Sometimes her voice would quiver. Sometimes her eyes would water when she hugged me goodbye for the day. I didn’t really understand, but I liked her, and I liked the way she scratched my ears and the way she smelled like Mexican food and laundry.
Well wouldn’t you know, one day she showed up and brought two other girls who smelled like Mexican food and laundry. I could tell it was very important by the way they were talking and the way Nice Lady’s face was kind of scrunched up and I heard the words “last day” a few times. So I knew I had to woo them just like I wooed the people who gave me the test, and I did my very best. I guess I did ok, because the next day, Nice Lady came back again and busted me out of the slammer for good. “Call me mom,” she said. Instead I called her The One. What happened next I’ll tell you in next week’s edition . . .
Settling in on my bed the day she sprung me from the slammer.
Meanwhile in Stevie-land, I have taught my little foster sister how to make a hole in The Most Indestructible Dog Toy Of All. I am so proud of her smarts, persistence and sharp little Stevie-teeth . . .
Love and a Six-Foot Leash 