Mid-life Menagerie

Tomorrow is my fifty-second birthday and I feel like I’m about to turn twelve. Tomorrow I’ll pick up my wife after her last graveyard shift at the hospital, we’ll have breakfast at our favorite diner, and by noon we’ll be walking through the door with Sadie, the sweetest little puppy you’d ever want to see. She’s a Bernese Mountain Dog with one eye and half a front leg left after…well, nevermind. Suffice to say she was abused.

Sadie is absolutely the last one, my wife says. Not one more until we move. We’ll see.  Last Monday I noticed a little white furball skulking underneath our neighbor’s porch, another feral cat, no doubt, to terrorize this street unless I do something about it. Better get my traps set up.

She doesn’t know why I bother, she says. Not now that we finally got a place out in the country. She doesn’t get that it isn’t the neighborhood’s welfare I care about, it’s the animals. Way I figure it, God put us here on this Earth to be caretakers of all his creatures and, well, I intend to do just that. Take care of as many as I can. Praise the Lord.

In a week or so we’ll make the big move east to the new place. Oh is it fine, too! Five bedrooms, a full basement, doggie-doors already installed (how convenient!), and best of all a full six acres. Think of the possibilities! I’m thinking chickens, horses, a goat or two…