For those who have kept vague track of what I’ve been ranting about lately… my husband and I adopted a incredibly-traumatized dog named June Carter Cash back in December 2021.

She is cute. No doubt about it.

But she is also the hottest of hot messes.

Case in point, she ran full speed into the closed screen door yesterday because… she doesn’t believe physical reality should stop her from escaping the threatening world of the TINY FENCED YARD AND DECK.

But that’s not fair. Yesterday was for no reason we could scientifically determine a bad day for June.

Bad days happen for everyone.

Yet, the kicker is how this dog runs into the closed screen door and then almost breaks all of her bones squeezing through the crack between the door and wall as I opened the door for her…

And then she poured into the house – a discombobulated tangled mess of legs and arms and a tail – and, after she had reconstituted, she turned back to look at me like how could you.

This dog could freeze flames with the accusatory looks she dishes out.

If June had her way, she would never move from her spot on the couch/floor just below her spot on the couch.

Ever.

But whatever. She is – despite everything just said – making progress every day.

Except for on the bad days.

When the patio floral is especially threatening.

June essentially has poor coping skills.

But she was found abandoned in a Southern cemetery.

So the ongoing joke is how she fed on dead people because when she first arrived here this dog started to eat bones using her front teeth.

Not her canines. Not her molars or whatever the back teeth of dogs are called.

No, her tiny little flesh-gnashing teeth are the teeth this dog used on the bones I got her.

So she clearly did what she needed to do to survive.

I know this because – in the beginning – she tried to nibble on me using her front teeth.

So I had to teach her to how to eat bones.

Or else June was going to end up in prison.

She eventually moved on to dog food served in a dog bowl.

But earlier today, I hand-fed her an entire bowl of food because she is still recovering from the atrocities she suffered yesterday and too anxious to eat from her bowl independently.

In any case, despite everything, June has become a bit more comfortable in our house. So she now moves around independently a little.

But this means she just

APPEARS

out of nowhere and is suddenly just *THERE*.

Like… HOLY SHIT!

She is silent.

One night we had tucked her in bed upstairs and I came back down to get something from the kitchen and… looked up to see glowing eyes.

I have no idea how she slipped by me and set up shop in Bed #3.

She also manifests in her bed upstairs. I’ll be in bed reading and look up to see her staring back at me.

She also gives me the creeps by staring into space.

Our house was built in the 1800s and – yeah – the dog is scared of everything so she is not a reliable source of What’s Happening.

But…

They say dogs can sense their humans’ anxiety which then causes them to feel anxious.

But it works both ways.

June is going to give me a heart attack one of these days.

Whether she is seeing shit or whether she is the shit… the dog is keeping me on edge.

The creepiest, cutest little cannibal I’ve ever met.

They say it may take a year before a really traumatized dog really starts to get settled.

But I’m a little nervous about what June will be if she just lets go.

Thanks for reading! Hope all of you and your souls are staying safe and intact in this crazy, violent ward of a world.

And here’s to laughing as much as ethically possible as it’s arguably the best coping method.

Or else… if we hold it all in and only see the bad, we’ll all go crazy and get violent and not help the world even a little.

🖤