Fee-Five-Fo-Fum I know exactly why he runs He thinks he stole from me and mines But he will pay A thousand times Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha listen Two Listen to spooked. Stay tuned.

I have this goofy. I have this goofy, three-legged Mutt, Georgie.

Now, he's a happy little guy.

If there's a choice between a scratch, right between the ears, or a Scooby snack,

he's going to choose love instead of food every single time.

Always wants to sit in your lap, even if you have other things you want to do. And the other day, when he wanted me to stop fooling with my phone and just keep stroking the top of his head,

I thought back to my first dog.

His name was Lucky, but he was anything but lucky.

We got him as a puppy.

The collie makes beautiful.

I begged and pleaded with my parents to let him be a house dog.

Let me take care of him inside.

But they didn't believe in such a thing.

Dogs don't belong in the house, they said.

Instead, we kept him chained to a tree in the back, which was bad enough by itself.

He bark and bark and squeal and screamed for his freedom from that chain, for his terror of the dark.

I didn't know how to beg for him.

I felt trapped myself.

And as bad as that was, we lived in Michigan.

Winter was coming.

First the rain, cold, slick ice freezing on his fur.

He got quiet then.

...