So, earlier I talked about my rabbits. Now I'm going to tell you about my old dog, Skippy.
Marcus and I got Skippy about six months after we moved in together in May 1993. I didn't want to get a dog as long as we lived in an apartment, but he talked me into it. Marcus looked and looked for a dog, but I kept telling him that this particular dog had already picked Marcus. He was about a year old, they said, and had been dropped off by owners that had moved. We got him from the Denver Dumb Friends League, a organization I had considered blogging for this year. We believe a man had abused him, as he was afraid of most men, especially those with facial hair. He had been an outside dog and his name was Lumpy. Well, we got him and his cage-mate, a Samoyed mix that I named Beau Beau. Marcus changed his name to Skipper (Marcus' nickname at work at the time was Gilligan), we went throught a harrowing housebreaking experience and we ended up with one of the dorkiest, sweetest, most loveable dogs ever. Thirteen years later, he's an old man, now. He can't see or hear well, he gets confused and has trouble going up and down our stairs. I don't know how much longer the poor old guy will be around. I know I'm really going to be broken up when he leaves us.
Name: LaDonna
