We have gone to the dogs. My parents, my sister and her family took off for the mountains leaving us poor wretched working people to take care of their dogs. The cast of characters now includes Midgie, a mixed breed terrier who thinks she is related to Queen Elizabeth and Bingo, an Australian Shepherd who acts like he has been sent to prison camp. Along with our two Dobermans, Sky and Lucy, they are quite the foursome. Even Lucy who is normally shy and standoffish around other dogs has joined the play. I’ve had to add an extra hour to my morning routine just to make sure everyone gets exercised before having to be in their crates all day except for the half hour I can make if home to let them out for a few minutes. Other than the time and the extra mess, I think we will survive the week, but Bingo is not as sure as evidenced by his letter home to his folks slipped out secretly but intercepted by one of the Dobermans acting as a spy.
I hope you are having a good time. Whoever told you that this place was a dog spa was lying. I have yet to see a swimming pool or a masseuse. Instead, I think this is a dog boot camp. We are kept in cages and then, forced to run laps four times a day. There are two large Dobermans who act friendly, but keep us criss crossing the field. When I stop to rest, they push me forward. Always moving, never a moment to even lie down. I told that dolt Midgie that our only hope of escape was to learn tricks so we might be sold to the circus. My attempts at teaching her to play “leap frog” met with great failure. I jump over her, but she just stands there looking at me when I do. She thinks the Dobermans are harmless though I warned her not to fraternize with the guards. In protest, I went on a hunger strike, refusing to eat my supper or drink any water. The keepers fooled me by putting corn oil on my kibble and ice in my water dish. I could not resist. Tomorrow, I shall do better. I had hoped to sneak back home while they were not watching, but discovered a warning sign. There is a dead squirrel caught in the electric fence. Placed there by the keepers I am sure to show me what would happen to me if I attempted to cross into safe territory. It smells very bad; still I could see Doberman teeth marks in it. Think of what they might do to me. I must think of a different means to escape. Even with those giant dogs they call horses guarding the house at night, I will figure out a way to leave this place. When you return, I shall be sitting on our own front porch, hungry and thirsty, but awaiting your return. Then, you will never leave me again. Unless it really is a dog spa. I could go for a massage right now.
Bingo’s folks will return soon enough to rescue him. Just like Bingo, you might be in a spot where you are miserable and counting the days until your release. But, the good news is, no matter how hard this life gets, God has already paid your ransom and offers you joy no matter what your circumstances.