I’m constantly amazed at all the events that have transpired in this short year.
I moved to my own apartment. It didn’t take long for me to realize that Mojo was not cut out for apartment living, so I made the gut-wrenching decision to re-home my precious boy. In the interim I put forth my most valiant effort in the quest to start a new life. Early March, Keith donned the suit of armor I always knew he had and formed an attack plan to win back my hardened heart – which I never thought would be possible. He’s since ran the entire marathon with a few extra miles thrown in for good measure.
The missing piece to the puzzle was always Mojo. I’ve wanted to write about it for a while now, but the subject was just too painful. On April 3rd, I pled my case to the gracious couple who had agreed to take him. On a stormy April 4th, we made the drive up to Salisbury to retrieve our baby boy. I am forever grateful to Debbie and Danny for allowing us this most precious opportunity… for my heart is once again full and complete.
I’m one of those people who believes every thing happens for a reason. I didn’t think so at first, but I believe all of this was actually meant to happen, and I don’t regret a single thing that’s happened this year.
Near sunset on the last day of summer in front of Lake Wylie, Mojo and Camille’s mommy and daddy will officially become one. The plus? Keith seems even more excited about it than me.
This picture was taken after a harrowing storm in the Philippines over the summer. The image packed a big punch with me, so I thought I’d update the wording and share with all of you.
The original was posted via Twitter back in August by this fine gentleman/rescuer – God bless him.
I don’t know about the rest of you, but the direct rays from the sun sometimes makes me sleepy. About a minute after I snapped this, Camille was fast asleep.
Prior to that, I thought she looked dreamlike.
To view other entries in this week’s photo challenge, ‘Dreaming’ – click here.
I’m so pissed off as I’m writing this that after I finish I may choose to not even post it at all. At the least this will be a raw and jump-all-over-the-place post. The question lingering in my head is, how can someone choose to abandon their animal? What god-given right do they think they have to consider these defenseless beings disposable?
In the small neighborhood where I live, we know each and every dog that ‘runs around’ (yes, there is a leash law but not really enforced) and know that each one indeed has a home. Three days ago, a white adult male Boxer showed up at the house next door. He will not leave the area, and has even made a huge bed of yard brush in the back yard of the house we think he was abandoned at. Our street is but a cul-desac consisting of four houses. The house two doors down was foreclosed on a few months ago, so the bank sent a contracted group of cleaners and yard personnel to get the house ‘ready’. It was approximately an hour after the hired personnel departed from their second visit out that the collared AB (abandoned boxer) showed up.
He appears to be a senior dog who’s non-aggressive, but he won’t come to anyone. I later gathered he is deaf since he didn’t pass my hearing test of several loud noises when he wandered in our front yard. Once he notices me by arm signalling, he always slowly turns around and walks back to his ‘house’. He will wander a short distance throughout the four homes on our cul-de-sac, but always returns to the spot where he was abandoned. It doesn’t take a damn rocket scientist to figure out what happened.
He’s waiting on his family to come back for him.
Yesterday I contacted the SPCA (humane society) who gave instructions to call the pound. I am not calling a kill shelter on this animal, it’s not his fault his family doesn’t want him anymore. Today I’ve spent hours attempting to reach boxer rescue organizations in the area. Though I’ve found a handful, half won’t consider a stray, another is full, most want to be contacted via email, and I’ve left messages with the two others. It appears that Sunday is not the optimal day to reach anyone.
I live in Gaston County on the North/South Carolina border – if anyone has any suggestions as to other contacts, I’d sure be open to them. Other than that I’ll just wait and hope I get a returned call back tomorrow at work.
As most of you know, I have a new ‘son’ – Mr. Mojo Risin. He was unusually nervous on the way to get groomed for the first time today. Although the little man was afraid, he trusted his new Mommy implicitly. In fact, everything seemed more than okay – as long as we were Together.
I found the little boy an hour after he was posted on the shelter’s website, and immediately called to inquire on him. I was told there was someone else also interested, but that the staff would put a ‘note’ out for him with my contact info signalling I was interested too. I know how this works and have done it before, many times. Realizing the shelter operates on a first-come first-serve basis, I literally ran up to my boss and asked if I could leave work an hour early, which he graciously obliged.
As I walked in the door, my heart sank – a large woman with another small dog in tow already had him in the acquainting room with her. I watched as she shooed him off with her foot and leg, and barked out commands which the little eleven-week puppy had yet to learn (she was also blissfully unaware of her loud voice bellowing into the corrider for everyone else to hear). I went to the front desk and spoke to the girls about ‘pup’, telling them I also had a note out on him. To my chagrin they informed me that Mean Lady™ was going to adopt him. Mean Lady™ had been there for hours waiting to adopt, but their computer system was down and they had to wait for it to come back up to complete the adoption. I verified once again that this was to be a sure thing, and they told me it was. As I walked toward the exit door, I noticed Mean Lady™ had her oversized leg and foot outstretched again towards the pup. I left the shelter in tears even though I’d never even met the little fella. I wondered just what kind of life he had in store for him.
That night at home I told Keith about my misadventure at the shelter and that Mean Lady™ was probably at home with her new pup by now. I pulled up the shelter’s website on the internet to show Keith his picture and immediately noticed he was still listed. They probably haven’t updated their database, I thought. I called them up anyway.
“Hello, my name is Bonnie Melton and…”
“Oh, Miss Melton, we were just about to call you!“
As it turned out, Mean Lady™ thought the pup would grow to be ‘too big for her needs’ (I’m thinking she knew she couldn’t kick around a larger dog). Just as well.
SCORE ONE FOR THE BON.
Meet Mr. Mojo Risin. That’s Mojo to his homies. I guess now I’ll be able to say with full confidence… I’ve got my mojo back.
NewMommy said we’re going HOME now. I like the word home… it sounds homey.
My new sissy. I like sissies, cuz’ they give good kisses.
See?? Told ya.
I think NewMommy needs some direction here…
What?? Who, me – pull?? Never.
The little eleven week-old border collie mix has stolen my heart from the very beginning. How someone could mistreat these little defenseless animals is beyond me. Here’s an added bonus… Mojo and Camille have the same color scheme going on! So does that mean I can say I have designer pets??
When I was a kid, my Mom used to point out the sand on the side of the road to indicate we were getting close to the beach. I must’ve worn the question “Mommy, how much longer ’til we’re there?” into the ground. She finally found a way to divert my attention from that irritating question every
ten minute s – to pay attention for my own self to my own surroundings. Another great lesson in life by a great Mom.
Now when I’m on the way to the beach, I still pay attention to how the red dirt slowly evolves into beautiful white sand. Except now, I also appreciate the beauty of it. It serves two purposes.
Sometimes it takes patience while you’re waiting on the dirt to evolve into white sand. As my dear uncle used to say, ‘such is life’.
Ever felt like you’ve bonded with an animal of the wild? I tend to bond with many of the seagulls, at least I like to think so. This little girl seemed ever-accommodating – a trait I see as both admirable and disturbing. I named her Bon.
It was a balmy 62° outside this morning, which didn’t seem right. I climbed into my trusty sidekick to go to work and marveled at the fact that it was so light outside. Normally having to be in at 7am, and with very few streetlights on the country roads, I appreciate driving in something other than pitch black. The horses and cows were already out in their fields, grazing on the lush green pastures from all the rain. Even my favorite handsome bull looked happy.
After the blue day I had yesterday, all of the above was a welcome sight. I went into work as a biscuit fairy this morning, which made me and everyone else happy. While I was in McDonald’s waiting, I talked with this nice lady who was also bringing biscuits to her coworkers – we both agreed a nice biscuit always makes people happy. I’ve got about 24 hours to propel myself back into the Christmas spirit, and since our girls are both coming it should be easier for that to happen.
My guy just texted me that there are some cows running around loose in the neighborhood. I so wish I was at home to see this. He only managed to get one picture:
Last night, I dreamed was in this huge mansion where a fire had started. Slowly it grew to one little fire in every room and everyone was running from room to room trying to extinguish it. When the fire trucks came, from the sunroom to the front door was completely blocked with huge obstacles – heavy rugs, big bags, and the like. I was the only one trying to move the stuff as the firemen were climbing over them to get through the front door. I remember yelling “someone help me move all this stuff so the firemen can get through!” and everyone’s response was “oh, they can get through – don’t worry about it!”
Dreaming of fire could suggest a transformation in life. The flames could signify the burning of any barriers that might be in the way. Not being able to let something go and letting it build within can be the reason for a dream of fire. Holding a grudge against something, or someone, could be the result of the dream.
Makes sense to me.
This morning as I sat in front of my computer, my trusty sidekick hung out with me.
I caught her snuggling with Mr. Frog (the first stuffed animal Keith ever gave me).
For once, I happened to have the camera right beside me.
A few minutes later, she gave her customary ‘hummpphh’ from her table beside the computer desk. Knowing my little girl so well, I immediately took note it was more than a ‘hey mommy, over here!!’ grunt. It was obvious she was planning a desk-launch, and she wanted clearance to do so.
And so the stance was taken.
“No, Camille.” Hunched forward again in pounce mode. (A little firmer now) “Camille – NO.”
She then backed off completely with one exception – her little left paw was left suspended
and quivering in mid-air.
And it hung.
And hung. And quivered.
“Aren’t I cuuuuute, Mommy?
Let me squint my eyes at you to let you know how much I love you Mommy and,
and, and… you are getting very sleepy, Mommy…”
“sooooo, now could be my chance – lemme slide in a little looksie at two o’clock…”
She shoots – she scores.
After digging her out from the wires on back of computer (oh how I hate that)
comes the dreaded walk of shame.
“Whatta you mean I gotta get back on the bore-table?! All that work for nuttin’??
Oh I’m pissed. No, I won’t look at you. No. I’m so…”
“…pissed, I tell you. Errr, what… a close-up you say?
Well – okay, gotta look my best for dem close-ups. Cheese!!”
For the past few months, I’ve admired a certain cow during my drive in to work. There she stood each day, huddled with her comrades in a misty morning field. I’d often see her in groups ‘kissing’ with some of the others. Now I didn’t know if they were actually kissing or not – but the Bon in me just wanted to believe this was a cow’s way of being cute and sweet.
I’ve always been a sucker for odd markings (take my cat for example) and this cow’s markings definitely fell into the unusual category. Dark legs complimented her cream-colored base, and thick black rings accentuated her huge eyes. She really stood out from all the others, and I found myself searching her out each time I came up on that field.
On the way home from work last Friday, ‘my’ cow was standing all by herself roadside at the fence. I did a three-point road turn and positioned myself right smack in front of her…
In retrospect I guess I should’ve known it was a he, but this city girl hasn’t been around many bulls and cows in her life. I’ll also stand by my defense of having not seen him up close until Friday. Thirdly, I didn’t think bulls were allowed to mingle freely with the cows… I mean, do these girls get any rest? I don’t mean to be crude, but this has to coincide with at least some of the more intense mooing I hear coming from that field around dusk each night.
As soon as I reached him and stopped, I immediately noted the large horns upon his head. This majestic creature stood there and subliminally yelled out to me “I am MAN, hear me roar” then snorted a mild “hummfff”. As I sat in my car with him and I separated by a mere fifteen feet and five pieces of wire – it suddenly struck me that I might need to grow a brain and moooove along…
Well… after I squeeze in a small photo opp, of course. Isn’t he beautiful handsome??
How I’ve missed my little blog – both reading others and writing them. Things have been extremely busy my way with moving, and I can’t wait to reaccustom myself to a more permanent schedule once again. I thought it would make everything easier having 2+ months to pack, get everything out and clean… but it seems as though I’ve been going back and forth now for way longer than I should! I’m finally convinced doing it all in one day is the way to go.
All weekend we worked over at my place and now, thankfully I can say I’m pretty much done. I still have to get the washer/dryer out to store for my daughter and find a home for my couch. K has worked his rear off the entire time, and cleaning should now be a cinch since the place is now empty! I did happen across a most precious commodity (ahem) for my cat Camille, that made her very very happy.
Meet my mousse! (Mousse because Mademoiselle Camille has always pronounced the word in French.) The Little Girl has been reunited with her long-lost BFF who has been MIA for at least a year and a half. Maybe longer. How old is this thing, you ask? Oh, I realize it looks like it was resurrected from the caveman era. But to Cam… it’s a thing of sheer beauty. A huge basket full of toys is no match for this one item sent straight from Heaven. She’s carrying her baby around again while talking, then dropping it for daddy to play fetch. She is one Happy Girl.
A view of the front of Keith’s. Note: it now comes complete with it’s own set of nightlites located in bottom left window…
I actually went to type a blog out last night, and in addition to all the nerve-wracking hustle and bustle of moving noticed my mouse (MY mouse, one S) was all but operable. I had to go out and purchase another one after work today. I guess I’ve been behind-the-times until now, because I’ve always had a corded mouse. At last I made the ‘jump’ and opted (pardon the pun) for a ‘new improved one’. That is, one that is non-corded.
Left: old one… Right: new-improved (non-corded) one. My hand hardly knows what to do with something so very small in comparison – but I’m finding it ever-functional.
So who gets the points on the cat’s eyes being covered up??
You’re never too old to be taught a lesson. In my forty-three years, I have never been bitten by an animal. Never. I’ve been bitten by plenty of insects, and I can even throw a boyfriend or two in the mix. But never an actual animal bite.
So am I just good like that? Absolutely not – I’m just lucky and trust me I know this. The past couple of days have been a heartache for my mother and I.
An adolescent stray calico cat had taken up residence in mom’s yard for about three days. Let me say first that if I were a stray, I’d go to my mother’s back yard to live. Her yard is literally a Utopia – add the fact that she loves animals and it’s a win-win for the stray. Both of us were trying to find the cat which she called Callie a home. Two days ago, I dropped by her house to see her on the way home from work. Sure enough, the little thing jumped right up in my lap the moment I went outside and sat down. It was obvious by how tame she was that someone had likely dumped her out. Oh how I hate that – our pets should not be disposable.
For the next 20 minutes or so, I continued petting her as she nuzzled her head and made biscuits like cats do. Mom even got a movie of her doing this, she just melted our hearts. Lo and behold, for whatever reason something spooked her – and within less than a second she had bitten my hand and was back down on the ground. She got me good, too – all four incisors made puncture wounds. It took until later that night to get the bleeding to subside.
Since the cat was a stray, Mom had to make the dreaded decision of letting animal control take custody of her, where she’ll be held in quarantine for ten days to monitor for rabies. With us both being animal lovers, it’s really taken it’s toll on us. Mom had already gotten attached to the little thing. As for myself – I feel very responsible for what will likely be certain death for the cat. I’m told I shouldn’t, but so far it’s not something I’ve been able to shake off.
Mom went through so much crap yesterday just to get to the right source – that’s a perk of living in a big city, everything is automated with call-backs. Cops here don’t even come out to car break-ins anymore to take a report. We both had to meet with animal control to file the report and let them see the bite. Today, I’ve already gotten two calls from city workers at the health department ensuring I took the right steps. I held my breath as I answered what I recognize to be ‘city prefix numbers’ – afraid it might be a positive on the rabies, or at the least a call to come in for the shots. I felt compelled to immediately insert a line about having my own doctor who was aware of the situation (done as I hear this little voice screaming inside my head… ‘nooo, you can’t make me!!’).
My most recently learned lesson… don’t pet strays.
Oh how I’ve missed my doggie lovin’. For years now, I’ve so yearned to have a dog again – I still have frequent dreams about my past furbabies. Everyone else’s dogs love the fact I’m still without, however – since they get extras whenever I’m around.
In fact, that’s what they refer to me as whenever I enter the room… The Extra. “Hey, Buddy!! Here comes The Extra!! Are YOU ready to RUMMMMM-BLLLLLE…???”
It seems as though I’ve always had a dog in my life, and I miss having one terribly. Just by pure happenstance, a certain picture got passed before me yesterday. I thought of nothing else all day long – this sweet little face that belonged to a Boston/Boxer Mix was like a slide that remained fixed in my blinders the entire day. The little pink ears and pads, his curious but loving eyes, the wrinkles on his kissable little head, and that strawberry character mark on those (yes, kissable again) characteristically boxer lips.
He’s a rescue, and he’s 3 years old – house-trained, all shots, good health, calm, friendly, good with kids, and has been described as a ‘social butterfly’ at the dog park. All 35 lbs of him. The original owners surrendered him due to finances, which is sad. Unfortunately we’re hearing of this more and more often.
I talked to the ‘rescuers’ this morning – good people. I won’t be able to meet him until Monday or Tuesday of next week since they’re going to the mountains this weekend. A good home is all anyone can ask for when it comes to our furbabies! The picture of this little boy has really stolen my heart like no other has the past few years… and this is the first dog I’ve actually called on. The only thing I’m concerned with is the possibility of him not getting along with Camille – of course that’s mandatory.
Is this not the most irresistible little boy you’ve ever seen??
I can’t wait to meet him.
(Just look at that little character mark….)
It’s not gonna be difficult for me to find a subject for me to hop on today…
It’s Groundhog Day, and for the first time in a long awaited while Punxsutawney Phil is not afraid… that’s right folks, NO SHADOW!! Know what that means?
Spring is near!! Spring is near!! Oh gosh… Spring is near!!
The story of Groundhog Day begins with Candlemas, an early Christian holiday where candles were blessed and distributed. Celebrators of the holiday eventually declared clear skies on Candlemas meant a longer winter. The Roman legions, during the conquest of the northern country, brought this tradition to the Germans, who concluded that if the sun made an appearance on Candlemas Day, a hedgehog would cast a shadow, thus predicting six more weeks of bad weather or “Second Winter.” German immigrants brought the tradition to Pennsylvania, but how did Punxsutawney Phil emerge?
In 1887, a spirited group of groundhog hunters from Punxsutawney dubbed themselves “The Punxsutawney Groundhog Club.” One member was an editor of Punxsutawney’s newspaper. Using his ink, he proclaimed Punxsutawney Phil, the local groundhog, to be the one and only weather prognosticating groundhog. He issued this proclamation on Candlemas, and yes, Groundhog Day. Phil’s fame spread, and newspapers from around the globe began to report his Gobbler’s Knob prediction. Info from http://www.visitpa.com/groundhog-day
In related news, February 2nd is exactly the halfway point between the Winter Solstice and the Spring Equinox. It is the winter midpoint or ‘cross-quarter’ day. The coldest, bleakest part of our winter season is now officially half over!
Spring is near!! Spring is near!! Oh gosh… Spring is near!
A weekend that was absolutely awesome makes it ten times easier to come back into work on a Monday, I don’t care what anyone says. I mean, consider the alternative – having had a really crappy weekend and having to return to work? No. I’ll take the weekend that was as sweet as a fresh-baked blueberry muffin, thank you.
Both K and I got to spend time with our daughters over the holiday weekend, and it was a great time to be had. Two terrific girls decorating a Christmas tree, well – I can’t think of any better way to kick off the Christmas season! The weather was cold enough to warrant a fire in the evenings… just perfect.
Looking out my window this morning, I’m reminded that the barren land across from our business will soon be occupied. The for sale sign is gone and the deer-laden pasture has been purchased. My sweet little scenic view from the huge window beyond my desk will soon be adorned with just another building.
I’ll close with a final snap of my beloved furbaby underneath her Keefer’s tree. She slept underneath it the entire night, even after the lights had been turned off. Of course, I had to get my own out after we got home. It’s not decorated yet but at least has lights, which is all she’s really concerned with anyway.
I have the sweetest cat. Thank you, Lord. Don’t get me wrong, even if I’d had the misfortune of having a mean one I’d just deal with it, since I don’t believe in giving up the animals you made a commitment with unless something is really amiss. Of course I realize there are extreme instances that do warrant replacement, and by that I mean re-homing.
In any case, both of the past two cats I’ve owned are simply… well, female. My Sadie who passed in 2006, was a Queen. She never knew a stranger, and would come up to non-cat persons and make a spot on their lap – providing them with the added bonus of making biscuits. This always got a giggle out of me. Camille, my current babygirl, is a Princess. She however is an introvert, and takes much time to acquire the trust of any person. The two personalities couldn’t have been any further apart.
I’m quite aware that there are loads of cat-haters out there. I even read a post of a favorite blogger recently about how loathsome this person thought cats were… he wrote of how they ‘lurk in the shadows’ and ‘don’t ever show theirselves unless it’s to attack’. Sweet bejesus, nothing could be further from the truth. This person obviously neither a) never owned a cat, b) had a feral (wild) cat, or c) lived a party-like-its-1999 lifestyle where the animal was just plain afraid to come out.
How about this… my girl meets me at the door every day. If she’s not there yet, then she’s running (yes running) from the back bedroom to the front door to me – bleary-eyed as hell from her afternoon-long nap. It’s the same ritual every day… I scoop her up on my shoulder and start talking baybay talk to her. She, in turn, starts snuggling my neck as if wanting to almost crawl into me. I walk her around the condo bouncing her like a baybay (should I be embarrassed?) (have I mentioned how very vocal she is?). She is so vocal during the rest of the night that I’m beginning to realize I need a laptop BAD. The crying that goes on during my time behind the iMac is absolutely unreal. All the instances in-between this are… well, let’s just say that we never lack for conversation. The word spoiled pretty much sums it up! I need to add in the fact that she absolutely LOVES my guy. And that, ummm… she owns him.
I entered Camille in the Cat for a Day contest on a local country station, Kat Country 96.9 (wkktfm.com). While I believe that most entries secure a spot on the calendar, I was surprised that my entry today made tomorrow’s calendar spot. So, therein lies Camille’s 15 minutes of Limelight.
I’m proud of my July 29, 2010 kitty…
I was ushered in through the foyer, past the living room and down the hallway. The doorknob to the right was turned, and the door opened for me to enter the room.
The room itself was bigger than I remember, and had a radiant, almost heavenly look about it. I immediately noticed that it was cleaner, whiter, and less congested. It was almost pristine – with much extra room to move around. Just as quickly as the door closed behind me, they appeared.
My dogs. The dogs I had to leave behind through a marriage separation, now well over two years ago. And they were smiling. C’mon now, no bashing… any dog-lover out there knows what I’m talking about. They DO smile.
I don’t remember actually getting down on the floor, but in the next moment that’s exactly where I was, and where I remained. Chance and Rebel were all over me, and I was all over them. They were both clean as a whistle and smelled so good. There also was no gray in them whatsoever. The dogs weren’t pups, but they certainly weren’t old men, either! Along the empty sides and corners of the room, there were lots of clean blankets and sheets, all neatly folded – there must have been 8-10 of them scattered throughout the room. As time went on I kept grabbing them, unfolding each one and spreading them out for us, all while continuing to love on them. I remember thinking, ‘boy is someone gonna be mad at me for unfolding and messing up all these linens…’, but the dogs were loving it, and loving me. All three of us were so happy and comfortable, in that room.
The tears continue to fall as I write this. This particular visit occurred in a dream I had last night, on Tuesday night.
I believe it all started when I asked my daughter to take a picture so I could see them. I was at work Monday when I received them, and it immediately made me cry. My girlfriends at work saw this and were very sweet and caring – they are good friends and fellow animal-lovers to boot, so they understood without even saying anything. Just to see how gray the little and big guy’s faces had both gotten in two years was shocking – in particular Rebel’s, the boxer.
I’ve tried to force them out of my mind for a long time now because it’s just been too painful to think about. That still remains the case. I guess somehow, unfortunately, love really is associated with pain. Whatever the case is, I do still miss them greatly.
It was a good visit. No, it was better than good. The visit was awesome, even perfect. I hope they visit me again soon. Or should I say… allow me to visit them.
Another night with very little sleep. Seems like I was up every hour. And these damned dreams, I’d like to have a night or two without them.
Last night I dreamed I was in a station wagon with an old girlfriend, who happens to be the mother of one of my daughter’s friends. She was driving erratically, and took a course off the road and down an embankment into a nearby field of sorts. We almost flipped going down it. Once we got to the ‘field’, we were stuck – we got out and noticed there was mud literally everywhere. We were then greeted by a couple of little dogs, fortunately they were friendly. Thick, heavy, orange mud abounded all over the place. I was barefoot, and everywhere I stepped was this mud, going in between my toes. The saving grace was there were also puddles of water here and there, they were muddy as well but held enough water to rinse off – albeit temporarily. I was then introduced to four ladies who are the sisters of a dear friend of mine (a different friend, not the driver of the car).
Obviously the key word in this dream is Mud. I didn’t like the interpretation of it.
- To see mud in your dream, suggests that you are involved in a messy and sticky situation. It also suggests that some internal cleansing is needed.
- Walking in mud interpretation #1: To dream that you are walking in mud, suggests that you are feeling weighed down by a situation, problem, or relationship. You are feeling frustrated.
- Walking in mud interpretation #2: To dream that you walk in mud, denotes that you will have cause to lose confidence in friendships or relationships, and there will be losses and disturbances in family circles.
- To dream that mud has gotten on your clothing or body, signifies that your reputation is being attacked and called into question.
Well, enough already of the dream stuff.
I heard something that was absolutely a scream on the news this morning. There’s this new ‘company’ out there called Eternal Earth-Bound Pet, completely founded, operated and ran by atheists. For a nominal fee, this ‘company’ promises lifetime care for almost all domestic pets if their owners are transported to heaven within the next ten years. All of the atheists who are signed up across 20 states are self-professed sinners and blasphemers, and guarantee they will be left behind when the rapture comes and the chosen are lifted.
The group insists that this offer is real, as real as we christians believe the coming rapture to be. The founders are striving to assure us believers that our animals will “live in loving homes, not in animal shelters or pet mills”.
You’ve gotta be kidding me. These idiots have no idea how their very own quality of life will suffer after the imminent rapture (that they are now monetarily profiting from) occurs. There will be catastrophes of epic proportions everywhere. Pain, grief, sorrow, depair, desperation….you name it. Do you think they’re gonna worry about living up to some contract for pets of the persons who will now be considered lucky and blessed in their eyes? It’s gonna be a job for them to be able to keep their own pets alive and intact.
So, thanks for the offer, atheists – but no thanks. I’ll continue to rely on the fact that my dear Lord has a plan implemented for our dearly loved furbabies, as he has a plan in place for everything and everyone. I will make no deal with the likes of you. The Lord created them, and upon his return for us I trust and believe our dear pets will be taken care of in a way mannered by Him.
And Him alone.