(Tap tap) Is this thing on? I got something to say!

Being a stray dog is no box of Milk Bones. Never knowing where your next meal is coming from--or whether you might have to skip it. Sleeping out in the rain with a rotten log for a pillow and a pile of wet leaves to keep you warm. Counting the ticks in your ears and the fleas on your bum until the itching just about drives you crazy and you lose count. And worst of all having to constantly look over your shoulder for the folks from Animal Control. (Who let those mutts out? Har-har!) Put it all together and you have some idea as to why, after a year or so on the run, I finally decided to let my new humans "catch" me. Whoever said that the hell you know is better than the hell you don't know . . . well, he doesn't know what the hell he's talking about.

I started the process of "getting caught" by conducting semi-silent interviews with a number of people who brought food and treats to me at my various hangouts. I'll admit I made it difficult for them to help me in this way, because they never knew from one day to the next where I'd be. (Such is life on the street and in the woods--you have to keep moving because you're never quite sure who your real friends are until it may be too late. Although many humans wished me well, a few were always on my case and trying to sic Animal Control on me. I wouldn't have put it past a couple of these self-absorbed Scrooges to poison me!) By "semi-silent" interview I mean that I just let people talk while I watched and listened. Slowly I developed a following that I could sort of trust--but I wasn't about to make any snap decisions. And then Mike and Jeannie came along.

Don't get me wrong. I love everyone who showed me kindness and compassion. But M and J were different. They approached me on my own level. Literally, they got down on all fours and even low-crawled through the weeds to get close to me. I found that comforting. Once after Jeannie had come up to me like this and handed me some yummy bits of raw New York strip steak, she lay down on the ground with her head on her purse. I couldn't resist lying down beside her!

For those of you who like pictures, here's the first one I let Mike take of me. I think he did a decent job, don't you? (Of course, he had a fair amount to work with, subject-wise.)

And here's one of Jeannie feeding me steak!

After about six weeks of checking M and J out, I was pretty sure I wanted to live with them. So a week ago last Tuesday I followed them into a friendly neighbor's fenced-in yard and let another of my fans put a leash on me. It felt strange and scary, but good in a way. Does that make any sense? From there I took a ride to the vet in a big SUV. You can tell from the next photo that I needed a little coaxing.

The doctor poked and prodded, stuck me with needles, shoved something up . . . well, let's not go there, pulled a bunch of ticks out of my ears (that hurt worse than the needles!), and subjected me to various other indignities. But I liked her, so I didn't object too much. Then it was on to my new digs.

I was mega-impressed when I went into this place Mike and Jeannie said was a living room. (I vaguely remember one from my puppy-hood.) They have this long, soft thing in there called a couch, and I felt right away that it was better for resting and sleeping on than the hard, cold ground or a pile of wet leaves--a theory that I tested and verified even before I had my leash off.

Yowzuh!

I do love me some couch!

I think I'm going to be happy here. Mike and Jeannie and their friends give me lots of gadgets called toys--mostly little furry statues--which they say are to play with. I believe this means you're supposed to tear them limb from limb and pull their stuffing out. The quicker you can accomplish this, the more impressed humans seem to be. I was able to do it almost instantly. Here's a picture of me showing my friend Davina the proper way to maim a toy.

And here is a picture of three of my favorite toys. At first their names (left to right) were Brown Bear, Bobo, and Blue Puppy--which made good sense to me. But after I played with them a time or two, M and J started calling them Anne Bear-lyn, Bobo Van Gogh, and Tripod. I'll be darned if I know why. No offense, dear reader, but humans are pretty weird.

But Mike and Jeannie are nice and they mean well (I think!)--and they let me use their computer to keep this blog. After I get some rest and start regaining my health (did I mention I have a mild case of heartworms and possibly a tick-borne illness called Ehrlichiosis?), I'll tell you more about myself and let you know how my new life is going.

One last thing I'd like to do today is thank the people (in addition to M and J, of course) who fed me and brought me fresh water and talked nice to me and otherwise, directly or indirectly, helped me survive when I was on the run. Thank you from the bottom of my heart, Gail, Bonnie, Judy, Larry, Lillian, Davina, Luis, Nancy, Dewey, Ron, Cheryl, Julie, Dolores, Doyle, Martha, Rick, and Holly. Thanks, too, to the caring doctors and staff at Countryside Animal Clinic, who opened an account in my name long before they laid eyes or hands on me. There are also many supporters whose names I've never learned--but they know who they are. To them I am equally grateful. And a big shout-out in support of M and J's favorite charity, Journey's End Animal Sanctuary, a shelter that cares for many species of abandoned and abused animals. Finally, to those few who wished me ill--and they also know who they are--I would simply say: May the fleas of ten thousand stray dogs and cats infest your eyebrows!

Thanks for checking out my new blog. I hope you'll come visit me again. I hate like the dickens to see you leave. Did I mention I have separation anxiety, too? I'll tell you why in a future post, if I can work up the nerve. (It's not something I like to think about.)