Roxy is a hand-me-down in a sense. She is our rescue dog from a local shelter who was picked up on some rough streets as a puppy.
Just a few months old riding int he backseat of the car on the way home from the shelter.
I sometimes imagine that she secretly keeps a journal chronicling her “captivity” with us. Something like:
I have yet to figure out how to penetrate the barriers of my new compound. The humans, while kind, do not realize the urgency of returning to my hood. I will continue to look for an escape.
While I continue to look for a way out of suburbia. I must admit that the treats have been worth the trip. I will miss them.
I have killed yet another one of those squishy animals that live in the domicile with the humans. They don’t seem to mind, but I drug the mortal remains out to the yard just in case.
I am so enjoying “the big boy.” He seems to have taken to me and amuses me during the day. He is quite large, but gentle and he lets me chew on his tail.
My new friend
I so admire “the big boy’s” ability to clean out a cup without alerting the humans.