Sometimes I want to disappear...

thathorse-obsessedgirl:

I apologize for such graphic pictures, but I’m not sugarcoating this.

Today while I was working at the barn, I saw this dog on the way back from a ride. He stood up and walked very cautiously over to the horses, but he didn’t come very close. He didn’t bark or growl, he just stood there. I couldn’t leave him there, I had to go back and get him with my car.

I got out of my car and walked slowly up to him. He put his head down and came towards me without my calling or anything. He sat down next to me (I didn’t pet him because he clearly has bad mange) and wagged his tail. He looked at me with his pretty blue-green eyes full of hope and I think he knew he would be ok.

I called every nearby animal control number and the Houston Humane Society right down the road. I had to go through so many menu options before I finally left a message… None of them have called me back, about eight hours later. 

I took matters into my own hands. I didn’t want to put him in my car because I transport my own dog, but I couldn’t just leave him. I figured there would be some way to sanitize my car so I gave in and called someone at the barn to help me get him in my car. He’s a small dog, but he has scabs all over his body and I wanted someone with gloves.

Anyways, I drove about five minutes to Houston Humane and the first thing the admissions lady told me is that they’ll hold him for three days and if no one claims him, they’ll put him down. Nope, that’s not gonna happen. I asked her where else I could take him and she gave me the number and address of BARC. I thanked her and got some gloves from her and loaded him back up in my car for the 45-minute drive to BARC.

They shuffled me around everywhere at BARC. I went through the door that said, “Entrance” and the guy made me go back through the “Exit” door. I know this doesn’t seem like much, but this puppy could hardly walk. He stumbled as if he were drunk and would occasionally just plop down. They determined he was too sick for him to be in the main building with all the other dogs, so I had to load him back up in my car and drive him to the rear entrance.

Some kind volunteers directed me to the vet building, and I waited in there for a vet tech for about 15 minutes. I sat next to him and talked to him. I told him over and over that he would be ok and I wouldn’t let anything happen to him. I told him he’s going to make an amazing pet someday and he’s in a safe place. I promised him.

The exhausted-looking vet tech came out, took my driver’s license (which they had already done at the front..) and entered me into “the system.” Then she came back over to me and the dog, whom I had named JoJo, and informed me of his fate. She said two very conflicting things and I’m still confused. First, she said that they’ll wait three days for someone to claim him, then have him evaluated by a vet and put him up for adoption if he’s not aggressive (which he clearly wasn’t). Good news, right? Then she said they’ll wait three days for someone to claim him and then euthanize him. I kept trying to clear this up with her and determine which one she meant because she wasn’t making sense, but I never got a clear answer. I’m pretty sure the answer is more towards the second option than the first.

Then I got mad. I asked her why the hell I took him there if they’re just going to kill him, just like they would’ve at Houston Humane. She shrugged and I said, “Ok well thanks,” and left with tears welling up.

I pretended to text on the way back to my car so the volunteers wouldn’t ask what was wrong. I got to my car and broke down crying for poor little JoJo. All I could think about was how amazing he’d be as someone’s dog and how I had promised him over and over that he’d be ok. I called Christy (the barn manager, we kept in contact the whole time so she knew what was going on) and told her the news and she got mad, too. She kept saying, “Why the hell do they call themselves a no-kill when they clearly do if the dog is the slightest bit sick? They’re not going to do ANYTHING for him?” My thoughts exactly.

I drove home crying and took a nice, hot shower. Christy had called me again while I was in the shower so I called her back and she had some good news for me. She knows a woman who brought a stray like JoJo into BARC, donated some money for his initial treatments, and then fostered him (and later ended up adopting him). Christy is actually offering to donate $250 to help him and she knows another woman who loves pitbulls and is already offering to foster him.

I’m not begging everyone to reblog this, though that would be appreciated. I’m not gonna hate you if you don’t. I won’t be mad if no one offers a little cash for his initial treatment. But it would make me and JoJo feel a lot better if you did.

We have until Thursday to figure all of this out. This dog needs a miracle, but Christy and I won’t stop until he gets his miracle.

P.S. To whoever did this to this dog - I sincerely hope you suffer equally as much as he did/does/will. I hope you find out how it feels to have someone give up on you, and that no one gives you a second chance. I know you’re out there because he has a collar and he’s neutered. It makes me sick to know that you exist.

(via nummerthirteen)

(Source: poehlerizer)

(Source: l-a-u-r-a-com)

shumbodynamedharry:

The Dirty Dash.  A new and exciting way to run the 5k marathon. I know what I’m doing during my hiatus…  http://www.thedirtydash.com/

This actually amazing, def want to do this at some point in the next couple of years :)

Rare James Dean Screen Test (by caltrask51)

jimmylives:

LOVE

What a beautiful man, long live Jimmy!

(Source: musicaydelirio)

barackobama:

Meanwhile: Nearly every Senate Republican voted today to double interest rates on federal college loans for more than 7 million students.

(via abgron)

(Source: lumos-maxima, via abgron)

aranov:

They told me the big black Lab’s name was Reggie, as I looked at him lying in his pen. The shelter was clean, no-kill, and the people really friendly. I’d only been in the area for six months, but everywhere I went in the small college town, people were welcoming and open. Everyone waves when you pass them on the street.

But something was still missing as I attempted to settle in to my new life here, and I thought a dog couldn’t hurt. Give me someone to talk to. And I had just seen Reggie’s advertisement on the local news. The shelter said they had received numerous calls right after, but they said the people who had come down to see him just didn’t look like “Lab people,” whatever that meant. They must’ve thought I did.

But at first, I thought the shelter had misjudged me in giving me Reggie and his things, which consisted of a dog pad, bag of toys almost all of which were brand new tennis balls, his dishes and a sealed letter from his previous owner.

See, Reggie and I didn’t really hit it off when we got home. We struggled for two weeks (which is how long the shelter told me to give him to adjust to his new home). Maybe it was the fact that I was trying to adjust, too.
Maybe we were too much alike.

I saw the sealed envelope. I had completely forgotten about that. “Okay, Reggie,” I said out loud, “let’s see if your previous owner has any advice.”
____________ _________ _________ _________

To Whomever Gets My Dog:

Well, I can’t say that I’m happy you’re reading this, a letter I told the shelter could only be opened by Reggie’s new owner. I’m not even happy writing it. He knew something was different.

So let me tell you about my Lab in the hopes that it will help you bond with him and he with you.

First, he loves tennis balls. The more the merrier. Sometimes I think he’s part squirrel, the way he hoards them. He usually always has two in his mouth, and he tries to get a third in there. Hasn’t done it yet. Doesn’t
matter where you throw them, he’ll bound after them, so be careful. Don’t do it by any roads.

Next, commands. Reggie knows the obvious ones —-“sit,” “stay,” “come,” “heel.”

He knows hand signals, too: He knows “ball” and “food” and “bone” and “treat” like nobody’s business.

Feeding schedule: twice a day, regular store-bought stuff; the shelter has the brand.

He’s up on his shots. Be forewarned: Reggie hates the vet. Good luck getting him in the car. I don’t know how he knows when it’s time to go to the vet, but he knows.

Finally, give him some time. It’s only been Reggie and me for his whole life. He’s gone everywhere with me, so please include him on your daily car rides if you can. He sits well in the backseat, and he doesn’t bark or complain. He just loves to be around people, and me most especially.

And that’s why I need to share one more bit of info with you…His name’s not Reggie. He’s a smart dog, he’ll get used to it and will respond to it, of that I have no doubt. But I just couldn’t bear to give them his real name. But if someone is reading this … well it means that his new owner should know his real name. His real name is “Tank.” Because, that is what I drive.

I told the shelter that they couldn’t make “Reggie” available for adoption until they received word from my company commander. You see, my parents are gone, I have no siblings, no one I could’ve left Tank with .. and it was my only real request of the Army upon my deployment to Iraq, that they make one phone call to the shelter … in the “event” … to tell them that Tank could be put up for adoption. Luckily, my CO is a dog-guy, too, and he knew where my platoon was headed. He said he’d do it personally. And if you’re reading this, then he made good on his word.

Tank has been my family for the last six years, almost as long as the Army has been my family. And now I hope and pray that you make him part of your family, too, and that he will adjust and come to love you the same way he
loved me.

If I have to give up Tank to keep those terrible people from coming to the US I am glad to have done so. He is my example of service and of love. I hope I honored him by my service to my country and comrades.

All right, that’s enough. I deploy this evening and have to drop this letter off at the shelter. Maybe I’ll peek in on him and see if he finally got that third tennis ball in his mouth.

Good luck with Tank. Give him a good home, and give him an extra kiss goodnight - every night - from me.

Thank you,

Paul Mallory
____________ _________ _________ _______

I folded the letter and slipped it back in the envelope. Sure, I had heard of Paul Mallory, everyone in town knew him, even new people like me. Local kid, killed in Iraq a few months ago and posthumously earning the Silver
Star when he gave his life to save three buddies. Flags had been at half-mast all summer.

I leaned forward in my chair and rested my elbows on my knees, staring at the dog.

“Hey, Tank,” I said quietly.

The dog’s head whipped up, his ears cocked and his eyes bright.

“C’mere boy.”

He was instantly on his feet, his nails clicking on the hardwood floor. He sat in front of me, his head tilted, searching for the name he hadn’t heard in months. “Tank,” I whispered.

His tail swished.

I kept whispering his name, over and over, and each time, his ears lowered, his eyes softened, and his posture relaxed as a wave of contentment just seemed to flood him. I stroked his ears, rubbed his shoulders, buried my
face into his scruff and hugged him.

“It’s me now, Tank, just you and me. Your old pal gave you to me.” Tank reached up and licked my cheek.

“So whatdaya say we play some ball?” His ears perked again.

“Yeah? Ball? You like that? Ball?”

Tank tore from my hands and disappeared into the next room. And when he came back, he had three tennis balls in his mouth.”

(Source: stephaniekilbury, via bornwithskateson)

humansareprudes:

I want to get lost with you, okay? I don’t want to date you or marry you, have two kids and a golden retriever and a white picket fence- I just want to get lost with you. I want to take the wrong subway train and end up in Chelsea, in a gallery with huge modern art…