SOME blokes are chick magnets.
Other people attract success and riches.
I am a stray dog magnet. And musings that I would one day be a crotchety old woman surrounded by once-neglected dogs are evolving into reality. For the second time in three years, some cruel mongrel has decided my doorstep is the best place to drop off a skinny, scared and, most likely, abused, dog.
Everything was ticking along nicely on New Year’s Eve.
I had nine head of troubled youth in the front paddock but the situation was manageable.
Tents were up, drum kits and guitars were banging out some God-awful music and I had served up pizza.
Then, some time around midnight, a white ute screeched to a halt out the front and deposited something on our nature strip.
That something has been named Sally.
This little dog was so skinny it hurt to pat her.
She smelt like she had been eating the carcasses of dead wildlife to survive.
She was bought inside, given a bowl of food and five bowls of water.
She still wanted more water.
At this stage, I am not sure what we will do with Sally.
Knowing me, we will take her in and add another mouth to feed to the list of mouths to feed at Chateau Kempton.
Sally will bump up the resident population to four human beings, three dogs, three budgies, a handful of finches, a princess parrot that hates me and a gaggle of chooks. Or is that a flock or chooks?
I understand murder. I even have a list.
And I understand theft in desperate situations.
But I do not, and never will, understand animal cruelty.
Why have a dog if you don’t love dogs?
Why keep an animal just to tell it to shut up?
We have already rehabilitated a stray.
We found Bob under our car at about this time of year three years ago.
He had to be coaxed out but finally he came.
He was painfully thin, timid and edgy – like he had been told to “get” many, many times.
Any fast movement freaked him out.
Luckily there is not that much in terms of fast movement around our place.
We kept him in the sunroom at night in a feeble attempt at pretending we were going to take him to the pound – tomorrow.
Bob is now a chunky, mouthy but still hyper- vigilant member of our family.
He was elevated to the position of top dog – or alpha male – with the death of our dear old staffy.
He has moved on to our bed to sleep – with his head on the pillow, no less.
He is outrageously grateful that we saved his bacon.
I have never been adored this much. It is almost creepy.
I hope 2008 is a good year for both Bob and Sally and all the dogs of the world.
I hope it is a year of reckoning for animal abusers.
To the pieces of garbage in the white ute: may 2008 bring much woe and bad tidings.
May the fleas of a thousand camels infect your crotch and may someone lock you in a cage, poke you with sticks and slowly starve you to death.
Is that a bit harsh? I hope so.
This story Administrator ready to work first appeared on 苏州美甲学校.