The next door neighbor to my mother's house had a strange dog sleeping under his truck the other day. I categorized it as one of those things and didn't think much of it until the day before yesterday.
He stopped me to offer condolences, so we had a short conversation. As we were talking, he pointed the dog out and called him tripod.
Long story short: the dog was owned by some transients on the next block. They abandoned the dog and a neighbor put him in a small pen, from which he escaped. He wandered over to the neighbor's house, which offered a big heart and the care of someone that loves and respects animals.
Nobody knows how he lost a leg, which is why he's called tripod. The neighbor learned of the history from a friend.
Anyway, the neighbor is providing food and water. He's planning on building a fence soon, so Tripod could end up with a permanent home. He needs that; people can be so damned cruel and how they can be so to a small, mix breed is beyond me.
I've tried to get him to come to me, but he's weary of the species that caused him so much suffering. I won't give up. At worst, he'll never come to me. At best, I'll get to scratch his head and he'll know all humans aren't worthless pieces of crap.
In Case You've Wondered
My blog is where my wandering thoughts are interspersed with stuff I made up. So, if while reading you find yourself confused about the context, don't feel alone. I get confused, too.
If you're here for the stories, I started another blog: scratchingforchange.blogspot.com
One other thing: sometimes I write words you refuse to use in front of children, or polite company, unless you have a flat tire, or hit your thumb with a hammer.
I don't use them to offend; I use them to embellish.