Sunday, April 24, 2016

(Unless a Navy Seal parachuted out of a helicopter to pluck him from the icy ocean waters during a hurricane) Your dog is NOT a RESCUE

Full confession: I once purchased a puppy at a Beverly Hills pet store. I didn't plan it -- the circumstances involved a husband high on cocaine, a marriage hanging by a thread, and the age old subconscious attempt to save said marriage by "having a baby." This dog turned out to be the love of my life however (RIP, Pablo) so I can't say it was a mistake but I WAS always embarrassed by the question "Where did you get him?" 

I have also had and loved dogs I adopted from the Humane Society. Never once did I refer to them as "Rescue Dogs" and the recent obsession with this classification drives me fucking nuts! Unless you found your dog starving in the woods with one foot caught in a bear trap, you did not rescue him. You wanted a dog so you went out and picked out a dog. Yes, you have done a good thing by choosing your pet from an animal shelter but I guarantee your dog gives you more love, laughter, and life enjoyment than you can give it. When pet owners need to qualify their dogs this way, it says more about their desire for a moral pat on the back than it holds any actual meaning about that pet. 

My wardrobe consists almost entirely of things I buy at thrift stores but I do not say I wear "abandoned clothing." Likewise, my apartment rental is not a "liberated vacancy." And the son my parents adopted at age 5 out of the California welfare system was not a "rescue boy." 

Now stop being so pompous and just enjoy your damn dog!

--Heather


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