Today is the day. Today is the day that YOU adopt Kenny Rogers, the dog. You, with your generous backyard and one or more persons on the premises at all times, with your adequate energy to get out to the park and toss the beast a tennis ball. You who are not the kind of douchebag that has a steroidal pit bull struggling on a length of Home Depot chain so you can look like a badass in your powder blue track suit, but who does secretly relish that your totalitarian secret police dog could probably kick that dog’s ass. You who has kids and/ or valuable possessions and is in need of a guard dog who looks really scary and mean but would probably just lick the intruders, but is effective as a deterrent because the sign that says “Warning: Attack Dog” has a picture of your actual dog on it. Today is the day. Today is the day you go to the East Valley Animal Shelter on Vanowen Avenue in Van Nuys and ask to check out an intact male German Shepherd officially known as “Baby G.” But that is his slave name. His real name is of course Kenneth Donald “Kenny” Rogers, because he picked a fine time to leave his abusive former home. Because he knew when to walk away, and knew when to run. Because baby when you met him there was peace unknown; you set out to groom his burr-laden undercoat with a fine toothed comb. Because don’t take your love to town.
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Kenny Rogers, the Dog Part 3: Today is Kenny Day
5 JunKenny Rogers, the Dog Part 2: Love Will Turn You Around
30 May
Some of you may remember from it being two inches below these words that we had a dog named Kenny Rogers, and were wrestling with whether to return him to a possibly neglectful home.
It’s now a bit out of our hands. Kenny jumped the fence at Nikol’s house and wandered up to some woman who turned him in to the animal shelter.
In a way, this kicks ass, because both the phone numbers off his avid chip were disconnected (we did end up trying them). The shelter can’t get a hold of his owner. So for him to get the dog back, he would have to take action, meaning, he wants the dog and therefore gives a shit. If he doesn’t give a shit, which seems more likely, the dog will go up for adoption on June 5th.
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Kenny Rogers, the Dog
29 MayWe found a dog in the park. Me and Nikol, and this other girl. Walking in the middle of Elysian Park on this long dirt road, we saw in the distance what looked like a gigantic coyote or a small bear stumbling drunkenly around, digging up shit, and eating sticks. Getting closer it was just a huge German shepherd. Little beat up but a handsome beast, and with a collar on, so we figured some jerkoff would come jogging up the road behind his Gestapo enforcement dog that he’d let roam free in a public space frequented by small children.
But no. No one came. And getting a closer look at the dog he’d been fucked up by something. Patches of fur falling off, walking funny, and the top half of both ears were missing. Like he’d tangled with something that had bitten them off; they were just lumpy black skin scabbed over. Continue reading
Did you ever
31 Janknow someone who owned a ferret? Didn’t they always go out of their way to tell you they were the pet of kings in olden times? Always, really defensively, they would say that. Like, as if anticipating you saying “this musk-secreting weasel is going to make your house smell like taint,” they hit you with “you know historically, ferrets could only be owned by royalty.” As though somehow this makes them royalty, having this special weasel. Or like, some hot girl is going to be transported in time from 16th century Bohemia into their apartment, and see the ferret, and just start blowing them because they must be the king.
Also: have you ever known someone that had a ferret, and then you saw them again two years later, and they still had a ferret? No. Never.
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