Some time back, we inmates got together and scribbled this tribute to Joe Walsh on the back of a Gravy Train bag; even though Stevie has left this mortal coil, it still feels good to include the janky-eyed girl. My name is Charlie, was trapped in a crate A victim of cruelty, indifference and hate two short guys on Hondas, arrived through the rain Released me from bondage, terror and pain. Now I'm queen of…

Some time ago, dad was trying his hand at a children's book, and was attempting to put my story into rhyme; I told him that he needs to stick to his chauffeuristic tendencies and leave the writing to me. It's said that the young dwell on the future because they have no past, and the old talk about the past because they have no future; I disagree, as both have a past AND a future,…

Just when I think that my story has ran it's course and is starting to die down a bit, something happens out there on the interwebz and there seems to be a resurgence in activity. With new people being adopted into the family at the Casa, I feel it's necessary to occasionally restate the message behind the story; when dad and Zach rescued me from the crate, they returned with the truck only to find…

  Max here; Charlie's moping around the Casa as dad's out of town, so I finally got my chance to Shanghai the ipad. As with Charlie, my story BC (Before Casa) is unclear; there had been some puppy mills shut down in the mountains of North Arkansas, with a rash of abandoned dogs resulting from people trying to ditch evidence.  My sister and I were found in an abandoned house, screaming, not barking, in hunger,…

  Diogenes was a philosopher of ancient Greece;  one of his best known eccentricies was to purpotedly wander the countryside with a lantern,  looking for the last honest man on earth. When the wealthy investors of his school sought to control his message by controlling his funds, he promptly took a lesson from the stray dogs in the area and took up residence instead in a large barrel.  His followers were known as Cynics, taken…

Some have wondered why I have spent so little time commenting on the presidential circus, er, primaries; this page is about sharing the GOOD news, not commenting on the bitchiness, big hair and bad pantsuits of one of the candidates. And I'm not talking about Hillary, or Bernie either for that matter, although both of those pontificating windbags could use a major dose of humility as well. It's slightly depressing that it would appear that…

This story takes place before I entered the picture, but it gives insight into the asylum that is the Casa Del Whackos; Dad is the mouth but mom is the legs of the operation, keeping his car stocked with dog food in the eventuality of finding strays, and she's the one that leaps into action when dad brings a dog like me home. Before moving out, Zach and Kat had always been instrumental in nursing…