my last word

This will be my last word on the subject . . . hopefully.

I've tried to let it go. It's over. Nothing left to do. But the frustration continues.

Yes, it's the stray dog again. No matter who believes she had a home and was perfectly satisfied with it, she was a stray dog. Making an album of pictures does not change that. Even with music in the background. A poem about angels providing filled water and food dishes and a soft place to sleep in the sun doesn't change it, alive or dead. A social animal, alone probably 23+ hours each day. A newspaper article quoted a local woman who was very upset that the dog had been taken from that so-called home, saying that when she took her to her house the dog always returned to the side of the road. Hmmm. Maybe if those self-professed angels had stopped feeding her she would have had incentive to stay at that house. Maybe if they had sedated and trapped her years ago. Maybe if they had inconvenienced themselves past dropping off food and water and not rationalized her living situation.

The very people waxing euphoric over her situation are the same ones who complain about a lone elephant in a zoo. And the same ones who think dogs like to be chained or in pens, love their "jobs," and don't mind being shocked as a teaching mechanism. Mindboggling.

The End.