Dogs love us no matter what. We all need a #DumbFriend like that sometimes

Everybody adores my new dog “Chewy” (short for Chewbacca) just as much as I do.

Chewy is a Chiweenie (part Dachshund, part Chihuahua). He is 4 years old.

He is an extremely sweet dog. Over-the-top sweet, in fact.

And he’s potty trained, so long as you let him out regularly, and don’t sleep through him licking and pawing at your face.

But he is kind of dumb, LOL, that is for sure. More dumb than the little poodles I had growing up as a kid, which is the only thing I can compare him to.

But also just as loving as the poodles, even more so, and he also likes to play “Socky” like the poodles.

Yet last night he kept barking at his reflection in the mirror. Pretty funny.

And dumb! He’s my #DumbFriend.

I guess it’s fitting that I got him at Dumb Friends League in Denver. But don’t be fooled by the name. Dumb Friends League is the nicest animal shelter I ever have seen or even even heard of. Their tagline: “Compassion Always.”

And that’s absolutely the truth.

 Denver a boomtown that’s growing like a weed

Dumb Friends League is in my new home metro area of Denver. Denver has money being infused into it faster than you can say Indica Edible.

Isn’t that fun to say? Say it three times fast.

Indica Edible. Indica Edible. Indica Edible.

I think it’s fair to say Denver is an American boomtown that’s growing like a weed. Pun intended.

While Boomtowns mean traffic nightmares and all sorts of headaches, it also can mean good news for non-profits. People like to donate money to great causes like animal shelters.

Especially in a place where everyone’s an animal lover (who isn’t really?) like Colorado.

At any rate, I had no idea what to expect when I headed to Dumb Friends League in hopes of adopting a dog. I mean, what was I to do? Go in there, say, “I am living in a hotel that allows dogs, I do not have a job, but I have PTSD and just sold my house and promise I have money to care for the dog.”

I feared I’d be judged, and I never thought they’d adopt out a dog to me.

Here’s what happened.

Will the pound give a homeless guy a homeless dog?

I walked in and said exactly what I hypothetically stated above:

“I am living in a hotel that allows dogs, I do not have a job, but I have PTSD and just sold my house and promise I have money to care for the dog.”

I walked out less than two hours later with the love of my life, Chewbacca “Chewy.”

He just has to love you all the time.

With his tongue, inserted into your mouth if he can slip it in.

He’s an escape artist, too. He’s quick.

He’s a waddling little wiener dog until he decides he wants out.

Then he sprints like a cheetah and you only see a blur.

He has this bizarre affinity for sprinting up the steps of our new home, Chateau Oak Terrace Glendale.

The process for adopting a dog at at Dumb Animal Friends 

Adopting a dog from Dumb Friends League is simple and painless. You meet with dogs one on one (or cats) in little meeting rooms. Then a DFL relationship specialist watches the two of you interact.

If it’s a match, it’s a match.

Chewy and I were an instant match.

This dog is crazy loving. He will lay his head against me when I’m mad.

I think he’s trained. I don’t think he’s a pound dog at all!

For all I know, he’s a highly trained therapy dog. Sent here by undercover #FBI #DOJ



I love him.

I had to sign a contract promising to abide by all state and local laws and to properly care for Chewy. If I can’t take care of him for any reason, I just bring him back and Dumb Friends League tries again to find a home for the animal.

And that’s what happened to my little Chewy. My heart breaks for Chewy’s owner and I pray for him/her all the time. Here’s why.

I tried to adopt out LuLu once or twice 

Now, at a couple of points in my life, I plunged into depression. These were following periods of crystal methamphetamine use. During these times, on two occasions, I felt I could not properly care for my cat, LuLu.

So, as unthinkable as it seems, on two occasions I tried to adopt her out.

Not only would animal shelters in both Palm Springs and Rock Island not take her, but they made me feel horrible about even inquiring about adopting her out.

That’s really jacked up and backwards.

Chewy came from a home where he lived life afraid. Odd, he never acts afraid now.

I’m less afraid, too.

It cost $125 to adopt Chewy. That included his neuter and other essentials needed to make him healthy again. He was found left in a towel, growing, with head whip and matted hair.

He came with all sorts of directions about how to deal with his fearful behavior, which he never has exhibited except for one time. I was screaming on the telephone and he shimmied under the bed backward, and it made me laugh because our poodle did that constantly growing up.

But it’s not funny, and it only happened once with Chewy.

Chewy loves me.

I love Chewy.



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