Editor’s note: the following was written by a man who proclaims himself a feminist and an Ally, and who genuinely thinks he did a good thing by begging and groveling like a little child and then going to Twitter to raise a begging mob against his own wife. We decided to publish it and let it server as the Holocaust of blogging history — a dire example never to be repeated.
I had everything worked out and I knew it had to work. I had so many advantages on my side that there was no way my plan could fail. By this time two weeks from today, I would finally have my first dog since getting married.
I grew up with dogs. My first dog was named Butch — named by my dad — and he was a white and brown spotted German Shorthair. Butch was crazy. He may have been one of the wildest and dumbest dogs on the planet, but he was my dog and I loved him. He used to wait for my parents to turn their heads and then he’d grab my little sister by the hair and pull her to the ground. Then one day while we were on vacation my uncle, who was watching Butch for us, let Butch loose in his field and Butch took off on a dead run towards a semi-truck. Dogs that try to attack semi-trucks don’t usually survive the encounter — and I never saw Butch again.
My second dog was an old Springer-Spaniel named Lady. She was very mellow — so mellow she was pretty much useless as a hunting dog, which was the main reason my dad brought her home in the first place. She used to round up the kittens that were roaming the yard and clean them. Lady loved being a mother. She was a great dog and ended up living with my family for many years.
My third dog was a pure-bred chocolate colored German Shorthair named Coco. She was a great dog. An excellent bird dog and an excellent family dog. She was well behaved and about the best pet a kid could ever ask for. Coco lived with my family for many years too, and she eventually died of old age about ten years ago.
Ever since Coco died I’ve always wanted to get another dog. Even though Casey is a cat person, she promised me that someday I could have a dog, but the time has never seemed right. I’m not even sure if now is the right time to get a dog. But that doesn’t stop me from checking the Indianapolis Humane Society’s website each week searching for a keeper, and that’s what happened this week when I noticed a German Shorthair that was going to be up for adoption. That had to be a sign. How many times does a German Shorthair end up in the Indianapolis Humane Society?
I sent Casey a picture expecting her to finally give in and let me have my dog, but no luck. It seemed impossible that she could say no to the dog — he was actually smiling in the picture. She gave me a quick “no” and moved on to the next topic.
I wasn’t going to give up that easily, so Addie and I headed to the Humane Society by ourselves and I snapped pictures of the dog to post on Twitter in hopes that Twitter could convince Casey to let me save that dog. I think Twitter was doing the trick too. Her stance was softening, I could tell. Just another week of begging Twitter, one trip to the Humane Society so Casey could see the dog for herself, and I would finally have my dog. My plan was working.
However, when Addie and I got home and pulled up the Humane Society’s website, I realized my plan had completely failed. My future German Shorthair dog had been adopted by someone else shortly after we left the center.
The only thing I can say to that? That dog was such a good dog that it only took him three hours to get adopted.
Maybe next time — if there is a next time.
P.S. Protect yourself from the coming data-powered panopticon by getting a VPN.