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I remember about 15 years ago that my parent's neighbor had a dog named Dolly. I would go up and pet her when I was there. This was usually because I had to go in her yard and collect either my parent's dog or my little hellion who had headed to said neighbor's yard without really feeling that permission or a human escort was needed. Ah bad dogs: introducing neighbors awkwardly since domestication.

One afternoon I went to visit my parents and noticed that Dolly was trying to stand and kept tipping over. "Mom, what's the matter with Dolly?" "I don't know," my mom said. When I went up to the tree she was tied to her snout was so swollen that it wouldn't even shut. I went down to get my dad. Then I started to make my way again to the dog.

"Moosh, don't you bring that dog down here," my father said. "Moosh. I'm serious. I'm gonna have a lot of trouble with your mom if you bring that dog down here." Click. I unhooked the chain and put the barely conscious dog in my arms and walked back to my parents house. "Call animal control," I say. "Jesus Christ Dave," my mother says. 

The dog warden came and ended up seizing Dolly. The neighbor bragged that she has family and could get 50 (insert the word that Donald Sterling got in trouble for saying as the adjective here) to arrive that night to do us harm. We are still waiting. 

Dolly got adopted. Or so they told us. I know the pound has a way of always "adopting" a dog that you rescue. Much like the way parents take the family pet to a beautiful farm to live on conveniently during school hours. But lets assume the best.

My father and I had to testify in the animal abuse case. Another woman who heard the abuse on the other side of the property didn't want to get involved. She was elderly and didn't drive. My father offered to drive her and talked her into it. I still remember her in the witness box. She reminded me of someone who would have been a friend of Aunt Esther on Sanford and Son with the box purse and pillbox hat. I remember the prosecutor asking her "Now did the dog make any noise when she was getting hit with the broom handle?" Her reply was "Well what would you do if you were getting hit with a broom handle?" All that was missing was the word "Sucka" at the end of her sentence.  The dog beater got a $500 fine. 

That's how you do it folks. Well, at least that's how I did it that day. It is pretty easy to do the right thing when you are passionate about something. The trick is to do the right thing all the time just because it is right. Period. Which is still easier than watching an episode of the Kardashians.

I'm sitting in a lovely house writing this blog. But it's cold. I just got up to put on another sweater. Tonight, all night, there will be dogs left outside. The law in these-here-parts say that as long as the dog has a plastic igloo and unfrozen water the owners are within the law. I think Aunt Esther would say "Now how would you be if you were outside with no clothes in a plastic igloo with unfrozen water?" 

So I challenge you. If you see something say something - Sucka.