rhapsodic.org · weblog · The Beakster

The Beakster

The signs went up Saturday afternoon.
I reported him to the animal shelter.
I sent an email to Tradio, the radio flea market, that will be read this afternoon.

Beyond that, there is nothing else I can possibly do to find his people. Like one coworker said this morning, most people wouldn’t even do this much.

He definitely knows the words ‘cookie’ and ‘outside’… but beyond that, I don’t think he knows any commands.

He and Lacey have worked out an understanding that she won’t sniff his cookie and he won’t growl at her. She has already taught him how to push his head behind the curtain to bark at passerbys, and which pillows are the softest.

My mother always told me to not name the animals around our place growing up. The dogs, fine. But do not name the chickens or the rabbits: it’s pretty traumatic for a child to become attached to Fluffy and then find out the family is eating Fluffy for dinner.

We didn’t want to get too attached to him in hopes of finding his people. But, as my mother said, the moment I picked him up off of the street I was too attached.

B already named the dog.
We talked with our landlords, and if we cannot find his people we will be keeping him.