Stupid, stupid sad.

I was going to make a nice little post or two about my recent birthdayversary, some delectable consumer goods I'd recommend, y'know, catch up on several yarn-related and art-related projects. I really should write every day, if not blog—and I promise this the last entry where I mention my need to do this. Not doing so, all these thoughts pile up, and nobody wants to go digging through yesterday's thoughts when the mind works now and you can't go back to that exact feeling.

Because right now I'm pissed. Mostly at the stupidity of—who, government? No, I guess it boils down simply to human condition.

As my sister is sick, therefore postponing a trip to the zoo, I went out to walk Pavlov today. Lo and behold, as we turned back on our block, a big (90lbs or so), black, shepherd-shaggy dog sauntered out several yards away from us.

At first I took it to be a new neighborhood dog. Hell, at least some dog with an owner. Even without a collar it's not uncommon to see someone's relatively well-trained pooch parading down our block.

But not this old fella, this guy is whiting on his muzzle, fur gnarled in places, and has absolutely no human-related social skills to speak of. He certainly wasn't beaten down; he approached us rather jauntily, though it became apparent he was scouring every inch of the ground both on sidewalk and yards for anything edible. I'm pretty sure he was also eager enough to eat crap, because he sniffed Pavlov's butt for far too long to be just social.

He certainly wasn't interested in me; cooing, commanding, straight talking elicited no reaction from him, and though he was right at my feet sniffing my dog, he danced off a few paces when he realized I was leaning down towards him. Not fearfully, mind; his eyes may have had that desperate gleam, a slight woefulness, but he just didn't seem to comprehend my existence, let alone fear me.

Anyway. He followed us a little bit, and when I looked at him he sauntered across the street into other yards of opportunity. I ended up taking Pavlov back home and reemerging with dog food, which, when I finally stopped walking after Old Fella and left the bowl on the ground, he investigated and inhaled every kibble.

Our yards have no fences between them, so there was nowhere to coerce Old Fella to enter (if that were even possible with this dog). I have no car to tempt him into—and it would be too close of quarters to guarantee a safe journey.

No, I ended up looking up Oakland's Animal Control. Oh wait, there isn't really one. Yes, there is Animal Services, which one could argue semantics over, but let me get to the part that really irritated me: I decided to call whichever number was recommended for reporting strays, which happens to be the Police Non-Emergency Dispatch. Which forwards me to Animal Services. Which tells me in the event of a stray, I should call the Police Non-Emergency Dispatch line.

I was going to rant about how our city's shitty budgeting doesn't even allocate enough money to having a steady Animal Control for these purposes—my main concern is that this dog be taken off the street so that it won't be involved in some accident or terrorizing (cars or kids or people trying to keep it off their property). I saw people make a wide loop around him as they walked down the street because he is a big dog. Frankly, I was a little wary that he might have tried to attack me, too, but I feel comfortable enough reading a dog to have done the few things that I had.

But really. I know the Oakland Police have more pressing matters to take care of. I know people will be and are more concerned for their own welfare and ability to survive before they have the time to give a shit about other animals. Still. As a community stray animals are our responsibility; if that dog did follow me, my ol' soft heart would have taken him in, though I can barely afford to take care of myself at this point (and our health-challenged Pav dog). If nothing else, even if he were to be put to sleep after being caught, he'd have food to eat, and Animal Services here treat the animals well.

So it goes.

The short of it being, I gave up on calling for City help, and watched Old Fella amble around the block several times before walking back home. I'm sure he is doing nothing different than he's been used to, but it'll burn me a little inside.