inside a zoo, what a thing to do
Let's be honest. Plenty of boys go through a period in their lives when there's nothing that they want more than a dog. I had that phase myself. With books like Shiloh and Where the Red Fern Grows dominating children's lists of classic novels, it's impossible to grow up in the US and not be, at some point, accosted with the notion that a dog is man's best friend. I'll admit it. I pined for a dog. Whined for a dog. Went through the whole nine yards, but once high school approached and it became clear that my potential years throwing sticks were limited (hopefully by the advent of college), I gave up on the idea.
Or at least, I thought I did. But during what some people are referring fondly to as 'powers weekend,' and the limited WiFi hotspot that I'd been able to access in that time, I had discovered on my facebook page that a sheepdog was apparently in my imminent future. Shared between myself and Priscilla Chan.
That it's chosen to show up in Tabula Rasa is nothing short of perplexing. I don't know what to do with it. It keeps on following me around, like I'll know what to feed him, or give him a bath, but aside from hauling a rug to the house and asking around on what types of foods are probably both acceptable and accessible for him to chow down on, I have no idea how to take care of this dog.
Fortunately, he's quiet. Usually.
Seated in the kitchen of the Compound (or whatever they've chosen to call it, these days), Mark's fork hovers over his meal as he stares warily over at the small puppy circling around the tables. He's had about twenty-four hours with the dog, yet still hasn't the slightest clue what he's supposed to do with the puppy. The possibility of handing it off to someone more capable of dealing with a pet- for a second, Eduardo crosses his mind- is a tempting one, but there's something about the fact that the dog is his that leaves Mark hesitant to abandon him. Give him away.
Whether it means that he's not that heartless, or if it simply means that he's too unnerved to fight the status quo, Mark isn't sure. All he can do is continue to watch as he scoops another bite of potatoes up with his fork, the food one again not quite making it to his mouth as Beast bounds back on over and climbs onto the seat next to him.
"What do you want?" he asks, eyes narrowed in confusion.
Or at least, I thought I did. But during what some people are referring fondly to as 'powers weekend,' and the limited WiFi hotspot that I'd been able to access in that time, I had discovered on my facebook page that a sheepdog was apparently in my imminent future. Shared between myself and Priscilla Chan.
That it's chosen to show up in Tabula Rasa is nothing short of perplexing. I don't know what to do with it. It keeps on following me around, like I'll know what to feed him, or give him a bath, but aside from hauling a rug to the house and asking around on what types of foods are probably both acceptable and accessible for him to chow down on, I have no idea how to take care of this dog.
Fortunately, he's quiet. Usually.
Seated in the kitchen of the Compound (or whatever they've chosen to call it, these days), Mark's fork hovers over his meal as he stares warily over at the small puppy circling around the tables. He's had about twenty-four hours with the dog, yet still hasn't the slightest clue what he's supposed to do with the puppy. The possibility of handing it off to someone more capable of dealing with a pet- for a second, Eduardo crosses his mind- is a tempting one, but there's something about the fact that the dog is his that leaves Mark hesitant to abandon him. Give him away.
Whether it means that he's not that heartless, or if it simply means that he's too unnerved to fight the status quo, Mark isn't sure. All he can do is continue to watch as he scoops another bite of potatoes up with his fork, the food one again not quite making it to his mouth as Beast bounds back on over and climbs onto the seat next to him.
"What do you want?" he asks, eyes narrowed in confusion.