The Damned Don’t Cry: Rudy’s Journal

Nov 4

Journal of Rudy the Dog

Day 1
They brought me here today. Some guy in a uniform with a big net got me out of that hoarder's den. Didn't care much for the place, to be honest—crowded, stinky, too many other dogs barking their heads off. Never liked other dogs. Always liked people better. But, yeah, okay… sometimes I nip. Only when someone gets too close too fast. Old habits die hard.

The lady here, she called me "Rudy." She told me, "You’re no cutey," but I wagged my tail anyway. Trying to make a good impression, you know? Might be a new start.

Day 4
People walk by. Families, couples, kids with sticky fingers. They peer in, smile, and move on. I don’t have the floppy ears or the big doe eyes that make people go "Awww." I’m scruffy, patchy in spots, a little too old to be cute. But I try. I wag my tail, put on my best face. Just one person, that’s all I need. Just one person who sees past all that.

Day 10
Today, a lady stopped. She had a nice smell, like sunshine and peanut butter. I stood up, wagging my tail as hard as I could. She looked at me, smiled a little, but then she saw the puppy two kennels down. The one with the big floppy ears. She cooed at him, called him "adorable." Me? I got a quick pat and the back of her hand as she moved on. Figures.

**Shelter appreciation week Nov 5-11**

Pounce on the link below. Key **give back** in the **Chewy search bar**. then key in your zip code. Select a local Shelter or Rescue thru **Chewy's Wishlist tool.**

Fetch It Now

Day 16
I’m not the cutest. I know that. I’m just Rudy, from the hoarder house. I got a patchy coat, a scar over my left ear. I’m not cuddly. I’m not the "perfect family dog." But I’d be loyal. I’d be good. I’d stay close and keep someone warm, if they’d let me. Guess that’s too much to ask.

Day 20
I heard the whispers. The shelter workers talk when they think we’re not listening. "No space," they say. "Tough decisions." They look at me with that sad, pitying look that I hate. "Nipping incident," one of them says, like it’s my fault for wanting a little space in that cage.

Day 30
Today, they took me out of the kennel. Thought maybe someone was finally taking me home. My tail wagged, slow at first, hopeful. But they didn’t take me to the front door. They took me to a cold, metal table. The lady who named me "Rudy" scratched my head, her voice soft, as if she was saying goodbye. Told me I was a "good boy."

I lay down. Closed my eyes. Guess I wasn’t cute enough for anyone to look twice.