I am going to die by dog. I know it. It might be while I'm going running down Sand Lick Road, and one of the crazed, bloodthirsty coon dogs breaks the chain off its doghouse and rips to me little bitty shreds. It might be from a deadly virus that I pick up cuddling participants' dogs while they wash my face with their disease infested tongues. It might be from careening off a cliff trying to avoid a dog sitting - sitting! - in the middle of the road.
The long and short of it is, there are so many dogs in Kentucky. There are mean dogs chained to porches, hunting dogs chained to barns, big white snowy dogs at the dump, little half-starved beagle dogs at our storage barn, and adorable flea infested puppy-dogs at our volunteer house. There are dogs with the body of a Basset hound and the head of a German shepherd like a surreal mythological beast, and there are dogs with no front legs that walk upright on their back legs like a creepy dog-person. There are old dogs by the side of the road, and hungry dogs outside the tobacco drive-through, and tired dogs under rusty tractors, and lost dogs in fields, and mommy-dogs with unlimited supplies of puppies, and dogs that are lame, and dogs that smell funny. This post is just inches away from morphing into a children's book ("The red dog is in. The blue dog is out.")
Moral of the story: If you need a dog, please come to Kentucky and take some of our dogs away.
Moral of the story #2: Spay and neuter your dog. Please.
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