the shelter

I know our route to Ivan and Ruby by heart, and I can’t help tugging a bit, even though I’m not supposed to. It’s been a couple days since I’ve seen my pals, and I need my friend fix like I need air and water and belly rubs.

We don’t live far. Down to the end of the street, around a corner (good news source there), then a few more blocks.

When I walk Julia—well, okay, I suppose it looks like she’s walking me, but I beg to differ—there’s a place we pass that always makes me jumpy and bummed.

It’s the animal shelter. And I know it’s a good place. A space for pets who don’t have a safe home of their own. When I was abandoned on the highway, just a few weeks old, a nice cage with a soft towel in it and a bowl of fresh water . . . well, I woulda given just about anything for that.

Still, when I walk by and hear all those desperate barks and meows and squeaks, it gets to me.

Sometimes having great hearing is a pain.

Thing is, I realize I have a home and the gang in there doesn’t, and I try not to think about stuff like that, you know?

I mean, it’s not like I can do anything about their tough breaks, right? And in fairness, maybe those animals aren’t like me. I’ve always been a resilient, hardworking sort. Maybe some of those guys even made their own bad luck.

Don’t get me wrong. I try to be a nice guy. I do what I can to make the world a better place, sure. Chat with the guinea pigs. Lick the strawberry jelly off Julia’s hand. Do my wag-and-dance when the ’rents come home to make ’em feel good. You scratch my back, I scratch yours.

But it’s like I said before. You gotta look out for numero uno.

Guess that’s why the shelter harshes my mellow. It’s just . . . you know. I’d rather not have to hear those guys every time I walk by. Makes me sad.

Reminds me of the bad old days.

droolius

I knew this guy, back when I hung out at the mall with Ivan and Ruby. Nice dog named Droolius. Basic mutt, maybe some Lab and golden in there somewhere. He’d done some hard time at a couple shelters. One of those dogs you knew had seen more than his share of the bad stuff the world can throw your way. One ear bitten off. Scars. A limp.

Droolius lived in his backyard. Winter, spring, summer, fall. Chained up mostly. Flies on his food. Empty water bowl way too often.