Greetings and Salutations, my dear readers. Her Ladyship informs me the proper thing to do when making these introductions is to tell you a little bit about myself. I may doubt many things about Her Ladyship, but Her knowledge all matters social will never be one of them!

I was born and raised in Philadelphia, PA. A dog does not necessarily like to dwell upon his past. Let us be content with: I grew up, and I was looked after, until one day I was no longer looked after. I found her one cold, rainy March afternoon, and with one carefully waggle of an eyebrow, I had her on the wet, cold ground. She never stood a chance. A few half-hearted feints, a tentative tail-wag, a swivel of my flouncy ears, and she was all mine.

I had no idea when she led me home that the house was already teaming with some many others in need. . .

Fitting in was difficult at first. I was afraid, but they were kind. I was warm and fed and cared for. But these others around me called out to my baser instincts. I wanted to chase! I wanted to run! I wanted to PLAY!! The others ran, but they wouldn’t chase back. They wouldn’t play! Eventually I realized that this was just the way it would be, and at least when the Moms played with me! And the other dogs and cats weren’t mean to me, they just didn’t want to rough-house with me.

(Except sometimes the big dog would. And I’d WIN!)

My Moms tell me that I am a Good Dog, even when I’m not; I think they still feel sorry for me, for spending time on the mean streets. I am, though, a sweet dog, and I only harass the cats when they ask me to. (Except for that Neech. I don’t care what anyone tells you; I hate that cat.) I’m nervous around most people, especially males, but if you take the time to get down to my level, I’ll probably shove my nose into your eyesocket. Smellest place o the human body, eye sockets. You can tell a lot about a person from their retinas.

I used to have a LJ account, but it has been a while since I’ve been writing regularly. I’ve had some ups and downs, some set backs, but the Moms thought it might be good therapy for me to talk about my condition and reach out to other pups, so here I am. Apparently, I took “you have a big heart!” too literally, and as a result, I’m dealing with the early stages of heart failure. The Moms were able to get me to see my doctor early enough, and I’m on a medication regiment to help keep the symptoms at bay. So far, so good. The Moms are starting to make noise about me getting a job — as if Hero Dog isn’t enough! — so I’ve decided to go into writing. Why not? They both do enough of it; I may as well. This way, at least my story can be told correctly!

Warmest wishes,
Master Corbie J.


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