I spent the afternoon manning the Red Cross booth at the local kennel club’s annual K-9 Wellness Day. For much of that time my assistant was Rottweiler named Stormy, a remarkably sweet-tempered and gentle girl; particularly remarkable since she spent her first two years the prisoner of a low-life scum-sucking dirtwipe who ran a dog-fighting ring.
She lives a happier life with Ron and Loretta now. Loretta told me that Stormy wasn’t vicious enough to be a good fighter so eventually she wound up being used as a sort of canine punching bag for the other dogs. Shooting is too good for some people.
Among the vendors at the Wellness Day were a trio of mountebanks who were shilling aromatherapy, Chinese herbal medicine, and acupuncture. For dogs. Since I was, so to speak, in uniform, I couldn’t walk over and hurl abuse at them.
If you are an adult human being who is sick or in pain, and you choose to quack yourself with needles and weeds, that’s one thing. But if an animal that loves and trusts you is suffering and you don’t take him to a vet, I hope you get bitten.