#Gretchen is a German Shepherd | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

black-cat-aoife · 6 years

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Now here’s the thing: I do try to keep my Goodreads-shelves at least somewhat tidy. That means I have my to-read shelf which only has books that I already own (though not all of them because I’m lazy), a wishlist-shelf with books I really want (upcoming books in series I’m reading and books that came warmly recommended by trustworthy people), and a maybe-shelf with books that sound interesting but where I want to check out reviews/samples first before I make a final decision. Of course, sometimes that decision is ‘I do not want to read it’ but I honestly don’t remember too many books that I kicked off that list because I didn’t feel strongly about them in the first place.

So most of these are books I actually owned (or had at least borrowed) and then decided that I’d rather not. Also, I don’t manage 10 because I’m more likely to give a book at least a chance before I toss them.

1. Leonie Swann: Garou

Once upon a time, Glennkill was a big hit in Germany. A crime-novel in which sheep solve the murder of their shepherd. I read it and found it…cute. Garou is the sequel to it but in the end, I decided that ‘cute’ alone isn’t enough to make me read the second book and the book wasn’t much more than cute.

2. Jane Austen: Emma

I have watched the movie and that was enough to tell me that I won’t enjoy the book, either. I just don’t like Emma, the character. She’s a horrible person who manipulates others because she thinks she knows better than they do what’s best for them. Before you say anything: I’m aware that all Austen heroines (and heroes) have to learn their lesson and that Emma meant well but the thing is…I don’t care. She simply has character-traits that annoy me a lot and I don’t see why I should suffer reading about that for ages before she learns her lesson.

3. Bernhard Hennen: Die Elfen-books

The first book Die Elfen (The Elves) came out shortly after the Lord of the Rings movies and very much tried to ride on its popularity. But to be fair: it’s not just Middle Earth fanfic with the serial numbers filed off. Both take inspiration from Nordic mythology but do very different things with them. And I even enjoyed Die Elfen, a lot. Enough that I got the final two books in the trilogy at once and also picked up the box-set with all the Elfenritter audiobooks without quite knowing how that series connected to the original one.

But when I took a closer look at Elfenwinter I noticed that it wasn’t actually a sequel to Die Elfen but set somehow at the same time but in a different place with different main characters. But the main characters (or rather one of them) was the main reason I enjoyed the first book so much. I decided to give Elfenritter a try then but didn’t even made it through the first book (I am so tired of fantasy novels with stories in which a thinly veiled version of Christianity threatens the Old Ways and tries to burn people). In the end, I threw all of them out.

4. Leigh Bardugo: Shadow and Bone

This is a book I never owned a copy of but I heard so much good about it, I really wanted to give it a try. And then I read Six of Crows by the author and it was…nice. Not great but not bad either and it made me curious about the sequel which I read… and didn’t enjoy at all. And the main reason for that was that it frequently read like an author’s first book. Bardugo tries to trick you into thinking something goes terribly wrong…only it all goes perfectly fine, the current POV-character is just lying to you. That’s bad style.

So after that my desire to try out an actual earlier work by the author diminished. And then the book came up in a discussion with a Russian friend and she screamed “Grisha! The powerful and intimidating mages are called Grishas. That’s like somebody writing a Germanic-fantasy novel where the mages are called Gretchen.” And I will never be able to unthink this which means I probably won’t be able to take the book serious anyway.

5. Colum McCann: Everything In This Country Must

I have not much to say about this except that I read ‘Hunger Strike’ by the author during my teenage ALL THE IRISH THINGS-phase and to be honest I was too young to really get it. I got Everything In This Country Must anyway because ALL THE IRISH THINGS and forgot about it. Recently I found it again, skimmed a few passages and decided that it wasn’t really my thing.

6. Dieter Breuers: Knights, Monks and Farmers – An entertaining history of the Middle Ages

I picked this up during a library sale because the chapter-titles were hilarious and history! Middle-ages! But since then I realized something: I don’t care about generic medieval history that much. I enjoyed Rebecca Gable’s Von Rastlosen und Löwenherzen about the English middle-ages (and if you know German I can only recommend it), I’ve read books about Russian and Irish history and want to dig deeper into those topics (and a few more) but I don’t need a book that focusses mostly on German/Western European middle-ages (and is of questionable veracity anyway, if the Amazon-reviews can be believed).

February 20: Books I’ve Decided I’m No Longer Interested In Reading Now here's the thing: I do try to keep my Goodreads-shelves at least somewhat tidy. That means I have my to-read shelf which only has books that I already own (though not all of them because I'm lazy), a wishlist-shelf with books I really want (upcoming books in series I'm reading and books that came warmly recommended by trustworthy people), and a maybe-shelf with books that sound interesting but where I want to check out reviews/samples first before I make a final decision.

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illbefinealonereads · 4 years

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Blog tour! Let’s talk about The Kids Are Gonna Ask by Gretchen Anthony. Scroll down for more information as well as an excerpt from the book.

THE KIDS ARE GONNA ASK By Gretchen Anthony On Sale: July 28, 2020 Park Row Books CONTEMPORARY FICTION/Mothers &Children/Family/FictionSatire/Humorous American Literarure 978-0778308744; 077830874X $17.99 USD 416 pages

A whip-smart, entertaining novel about twin siblings who become a national phenomenon after launching a podcast to find the biological father they never knew. The death of Thomas and Savannah McClair’s mother turns their world upside down. Raised to be fiercely curious by their grandmother Maggie, the twins become determined to learn the identity of their biological father. And when their mission goes viral, an eccentric producer offers them a dream platform: a fully sponsored podcast called The Kids Are Gonna Ask. To discover the truth, Thomas and Savannah begin interviewing people from their mother’s past and are shocked when the podcast ignites in popularity. As the attention mounts, they get caught in a national debate they never asked for—but nothing compares to the mayhem that ensues when they find him. Cleverly constructed, emotionally perceptive and sharply funny, The Kids Are Gonna Ask is a rollicking coming-of-age story and a moving exploration of all the ways we can go from lost to found.

Buy Links:

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Kids-Are-Gonna-Ask-Novel/dp/077830874X Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-kids-are-gonna-ask-gretchen-anthony/1131329819 IndieBound: https://www.indiebound.org/book/9780778308744 Books-A-Million: https://www.booksamillion.com/p/Kids-Gonna-Ask/Gretchen-Anthony/9780778308744?id=7941582454467&_ga=2.251093830.1162369720.1594158248-529522754.1594158248# AppleBooks: https://books.apple.com/us/book/the-kids-are-gonna-ask/id1460789878 Google Play: https://play.google.com/store/books/details/Gretchen_Anthony_The_Kids_Are_Gonna_Ask?id=siOYDwAAQBAJ

GRETCHEN ANTHONY is the author of Evergreen Tidings from the Baumgartners, which was a Midwestern Connections Pick and a best books pick by Amazon, BookBub, PopSugar, and the New York Post. Her work has been featured in The Washington Post, Medium, and The Write Life, among others. She lives in Minneapolis with her family.

Social Links:

Author website: https://www.gretchenanthony.com/

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/45297823-the-kids-are-gonna-ask

Twitter: https://twitter.com/granthony

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/gretchenanthony.writer/

Excerpt:

JULY

The house had become an aquarium—one side tank, the other, fingerprint-smeared glass—with Thomas McClair on the inside looking out. There had been a dozen protests outside their home in less than a week, all for the McClairs to—what, enjoy? Critique? Reject? There was no making sense of it.

Tonight, Thomas pulled his desk chair up to the window and kicked his feet onto the sill. He’d been too anxious to eat dinner, but his mind apparently hadn’t notified his stomach, which now growled and cramped. He was seventeen. He could swallow a whole pizza and wash it down with a half-gallon of milk, then go back for more, especially being an athlete. But that was before.

Before the podcast, before the secrets, before the wave of national attention. Now he was just a screwup with a group of strangers swarming the parkway across the street from his house because he’d practically invited them to come.

He deserved to feel awful.

The McClairs had been locked in the house for a week, leaving Thomas short of both entertainment and sanity. He had no choice but to watch the show unfolding outside. Stuck in his beige bedroom, with the Foo Fighters at Wembley poster and the Pinewood Derby blue ribbons, overlooking the front lawn and the driveway and the hand-me-down Volvo neither he nor Savannah had driven since last week. There they stood—a crowd of milling strangers, all vying for the McClairs’ attention. All these people with their causes. Some who came to help or ogle. More who came to hate.

Thomas brought his face almost to the glass and tried to figure out the newly assembling crowd. Earlier that day, out of all the attention seekers, one guy in particular had stood out. He wore black jeans, black boots, a black beanie—a massive amount of clothing for the kind of day where you could see the summer heat curling up from the pavement—and a black T-shirt that screamed WHO’S PAYING YOU? in pink neon. He also held a leash attached to a life-size German shepherd plushy toy.

Some of the demonstrators had gone home for the night, only to be replaced by a candlelight vigil. And a capella singing. There were only about a dozen people in the group, all women, except for two tall guys in the back lending their baritones to a standard rotation of hymns. “Amazing Grace” first, followed by “Jesus Loves the Little Children.” Now they were into a song Thomas didn’t know, but the longer he listened, he figured hundred-to-one odds that the lyrics consisted of no more than three words, repeated over and over. They hit the last note and raised their candles high above their heads. By daaaaaaaaaaaayyyy.

“No more,” he begged into the glass. “I can’t take any more.”

A week. Of this.

Of protests, rallies and news crews with their vans and satellites and microphones.

Of his sister, Savannah, locked in her room, refusing to speak to him.

Of his grandmother Maggie in hers, sick with worry.

Of finding—then losing—his biodad, the missing piece of his mother’s story. And his own.

Thomas was left to deal with it all. Because he’d started it. And because he was a finisher. And most of all, because it wasn’t over yet.

#blog tour #excerpt #the kids are gonna ask #gretchen anthony

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purkinje-effect · 7 years

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The Anatomy of Melancholy, 2

Table of Contents Go to previous. Go to next.

Updated 2019.01.29. (Minor name tweaking.)

Once he’d sufficiently tailored the slacks and dress shirt, Carey spent the rest of the afternoon and evening assessing potential salvage among the wreckage of the small suburb. He and Jacob maintained terminal entries on all their clients, and on behalf of Jacob that included casing information regarding the locations of those individuals’ safes. The three besides their own yielded a reliquary of heirlooms crafted from precious metals as well as cash, and he amassed it all though he fostered no belief money would retain value as more than a scrap of cloth to survivors of the nuclear exchange. It takes a government to cast the shadow of a gold or silver standard, and the chemist doubted in dire earnest there existed any such establishment now.

He combed the handful of houses still half-standing, inspected mailboxes both those still upright and those knocked clear into others’ yards, rooted through garages and the shells of once vehicles; but, he gained scant notable additions compared to those retrieved from his prior home. Either time had erased the quality of most things, or those evacuating to Vault 111 had taken the best things with them only to have them discarded by the shills running it. Further insects argued with the chemist’s presence in their homes, but Angel made quick work of the enormous mutant flies and roaches.

Angel’s back panel espoused rather spacious storage. Unbeknownst to the Handy, its owner had hollowed out a small false bottom to this compartment, where he’d kept things such as his Melancholia during his active duty–but now, he fattened it with cash and valuables as he encountered them, and stored the chems in the main space. The compartment soon filled with a collection of tools, and household and backyard chemicals he could recall would prove useful to him once he found someplace stable and secure enough. The Vault Suit itself got crammed furthest in, out of sight and out of mind.

Unnervingly, he knew he couldn’t stay put for long, for he found almost no shelf-stable food: only a small cache of Salisbury steaks and canned water in Heydar Jahani’s small cellar shelter. It seared Carey that Vault-Tec had not extended invitation into Vault 111 to Jahani, despite his veteran status, while they’d invited both himself and the Murphys. Albeit crystal hindsight, he wished he didn’t understand the grounds upon which the vault might have rejected the one vet while fondly welcoming the other three. Military duty at the Deenwood Compound had broken Carey and Jahani in very different ways. As he helped himself to Jahani’s dirt-dark two hundred year old stout stash, he recalled that Nora Murphy had been in the army’s Judge Advocate General’s Corps, and wondered if she could have ever resolved a workman’s compensation claim for the poor soul, given the chance.

Carey doubted it.

Besides a pair of X-Cell inhalers from the Russells’ floor safe, only the contents of the first aid kits and medicine cabinets held any value. His stomach hardened to see Jacob’s hunch checked out: along with the performance enhancer had lain a ledger of dog fighting bets. Russell had been doping dogs with it. Carey supposed the political climate leading up to the nuclear exchange had warped just about everyone’s rationality and sensibilities.

The chemist most loathed his inability to locate any Mentats whatsoever in Sanctuary. The longer Carey existed again, the more he understood his constitution was fundamentally wrong. He struggled through murky, resistant acuity, noting a patchy memory and also difficulty pairing information. He at once felt both too loose and too stiff in most joints. He couldn’t see as well as he remembered he could. The disposition of his flesh rendered itself papery and pliant, while equally infirm. Everything took two or three times the extra effort to accomplish, down to putting one foot before the other... The cryogenesis must have surely wrought him rheumatic, and the opioids in his Melancholia cocktail had only masked the pain, not improved his function, and he opted to save the narcotics rather than plow through them since they didn’t much seem to help anyway. Between the limited food supplies and increasingly likely chronic pain, he resolved to push on to Concord proper. In the morning.

Returning to the vault overnight didn’t even dawn on him. Vulnerable everywhere else, he ate dinner in Jahani’s cellar and slept there.

When he emerged the following day, Carey located Angel and loaded the cellar’s supplies into it, then the two made a quick round to guarantee they hadn’t left anything especially important. He snacked on a can of pork n’ beans as he walked Southeast to the footbridge out of town.

“Just a bit overcast. Fine weather to walk to work, isn’t it, Sir?”

“You could say that.”

Once he’d polished off the fermented mess of proteins, he tossed the can and pocketed the spoon. He stepped around the fresh corpses of a man and a mangy dog in the road. There were bite marks. With a hard swallow, he pulled out his gun and looked around more intently than before as he continued down the broken asphalt.

“I hope Miss Gretchen doesn’t chastise us for being so late,” Angel commented darkly. “Surely, she’d understand.”

“Positive that’s not going to be an issue.”

Carey whipped face-down to the crumbling asphalt too fast to think he’d tripped on it. Something had grabbed his ankle, and he rolled over to try to kick them. With a frothy growl, the thing which looked to once be human lashed out at him with too-long fingernails. A second kick gave him enough time to steady his hands to fire at it. Heart between his ears, his eyes whipped around to recognize these things surrounded him, and if they hadn’t noticed him before the gunfire, they certainly had now.

“Terrific!” Angel beamed, switching out its pincer attachments for its laser and circular saw. “It’s a fight then!”

“…God…”

Carey glazed with dread, trembling as these mutated, misshapen ghouls shambled closer. In naked tatters, their complexion and hair had burned and melted, their black eyes sank deep in their faces, and their apparent bone structure was lost in wanderlust. When one abruptly scrambled to run and lunge at him with a guttural yowl, he screamed and unloaded the entire clip at it. He continued pulling the trigger on the empty pistol as the thing crumpled lifeless at his feet atop the first one. He pushed backwards as fast as he could to back himself into the embankment beside the road, eyes frozen open with grief.

All the while, Angel hummed eagerly while it deftly mowed down several of them.

“…Indhhh–” A third one glared at Carey, and he frantically reloaded from his slacks pocket. But, the ghoul simply stood there, breathing heavy and letting out a faint growl. It lacked a nose, and its jawline had rotted down to mere teeth, its thyroid hanging massive like a crop from a horribly elongated neck. The hairless, earless thing squinted, clearly pained. “Mhhh. Ghgh’dy.”

When the ghoul did not advance, Carey’s eyes darted to the others that had opted to attack the shiny flaming robot rather than him. Mindy. Horror seized him when he realized this thing recognized him, and did his best to aim his pistol at it, distrustful. Angel continued to contend with the dozen or so others, the violence framing this one and himself in a solipsistic, distorted sphere.

“…Jacob?” The breath to speak could scarce escape him. A drooling roar came from it, and the tears started. “Jacob, I’m sorry…”

“Khhh, llm.” Kill me. It took a step toward him. “Hhree.” Hurry? …Free?

“I don’t understand.” He shook his head at it, gaze unable to stay on any one feature too long. “What… what are you?” Suddenly, it clicked what Angel was doing and he screamed, nauseated mouth suffusing with desperate saliva. “ANGEL STOP!”

The last of the ghouls fell to the road and Angel turned in confusion to its owner.

“You missed one, Sir.”

“These… these…” He couldn’t breathe. “These are what’s left of Sanctuary!?”

“Feral ghouls are everywhere these days, I’m afraid,” the robot replied, poised to fell the ghoul between them upon command. “Allow me to get this one, Sir.”

“I, no. No. I can’t.” He glanced up at the Red Rocket filling station behind it and Angel. “I can’t. Please. Can we leave him here? At the truck stop?”

Its ocular lenses shuffled around to scrutinize the ghoul.

“I suppose. It doesn’t seem to wish harm like the others.”

He couldn’t believe Angel couldn’t understand. The more he stared at the ghoul, the more he could recognize the vestiges of Jacob’s features. He stood slowly, as not to unsettle the ghoul, and dropped the pistol hand to his side. With the other, he pointed to the filling station.

“You… you’ve been staying here? Right? Because the insects are bothering you back at the house?”

The ghoul forced through its exposed turbinates a long breath which turned into a whine.

“Khhh, llm. Kkhhh. Mhh’d.”

“Jacob, no.”

Barking closed in on the paused chaos, and a sizable ramshackle dog stopped mere yards away, lowering its head to growl. Angel and Carey both moved to aim at the unpredictable new threat, but the ghoul started toward it, and crooked down slightly to pet the German shepherd’s head. The dog softened and pulled at what was left of the ghoul’s trousers to lead it back to the filling station. The moment the dog had appeared, the ghoul lost all attention on Carey and his Mister Handy, and cared only about the dog.

“…He’s… got a friend left, at least.” Carey nearly dropped the gun in shock, but caught himself and turned on the safety before pocketing it. He looked around at the casualties littering the road, then back to the Red Rocket. “I’m not sure this is better than him dying.”

“Come now, Mister Carey. We can mull over such existential preponderances during your work break! We’re late enough as it is.”

The chemist’s fingers retraced his platysmal scar again, and he drew a difficult breath and shut his eyes.

“Let’s get going.”

The pair traveled through the decimated streets of Concord, following their routine track to and from work. A town devoid of population unsettled Carey more than the same of a small suburb. What remained of Walden Drugs did not invite them. The roof of the two story building had fallen, but the second story’s floor still shielded the first from the dreary drizzling which had set in during the confrontation.

“Go upstairs ahead of me,” Carey instructed. Once it had gone, he crouched behind the counter and rummaged the shelves, drawers, and cabinets. He emptied out the first aid tin on the wall of its Stimpak, gauze, and smelling salts, and took the box of ballpoint pens and a fistful of manila folders from the front counter’s hanging file drawer as well. In the drawer he put his hands on a pair of directories–one, of the employees, the other, of nearby drugstores and chemists. One of the locations in the latter would have to provide him supplies, and the closer, the better. Lexington Walden. He shut the directory and with a nod slapped his peeling counter with the wad of papers. Out of habit, the fifteen dollars still inexplicably in the till found its way into his pocket.

He ascended the stairs with the files under his arm, and everything else awkwardly in his trouser pockets. The light rain annoyed him only slightly less than finding that so little remained of his former workplace. The desks had rusted and rotted out, despite a scab of papers plastered to the floor by centuries of weather, and the inventory had been looted. From a metal storage box near the baseboards, he grabbed a bottle of Wonderglue and a box of .38 bullets. Then he got Angel’s attention to deposit everything in its storage compartment.

Pulling out the box of bobby pins to reuse the one he’d bent up the day before, he approached the small wall safe that had once belonged to Gretchen, the store owner. Angel idled anxiously, finding little to occupy itself.

“I wonder where Miss Gretchen and the others are.”

Carey did not respond, haunted as ever by this nightmare he’d awoken to, lost in thought as he struggled with the sophisticated lock. He couldn’t handle the idea his boss, or any of his coworkers, had suffered the same fate as his roommate and the others. Jacob’s face wouldn’t quit him. His friend had been so plain before, but he was so… beautiful now. When he caught himself in such thoughts, he shook his head of them and had to stop a moment to recollect himself. God, he needed a drink.

His boss’s safe gave him more trouble than his own, but the effort yielded him a .38 pistol with a wood-panel grip and a fine scope, as well as war bonds and a set of spare keys which no longer belonged to anything. Well, the scope seemed wonderful by comparison, anyway, to the shoddy company-issue 10mm pistol with iron sights he’d nicked off the corpse of that Vault 111 security guard. The chemist favored it, and stored the 10mm in Angel.

Descending back to the main floor, the nag graced him with a difficult and thoughtful squint: “Did I… clock out that day…?” But then, he noticed the cardstock had plastered into mush in the slots of the time card rack, and he stared vacantly for some time at the clock itself. Suppose it’s 9:47am forever. He shook the nonsense from his brain and very much just wanted to leave, and yet... He hadn’t checked the mudroom.

As he walked behind the counter again, and back under the stairwell, he stopped, stunned. The lockers to the left had remained untouched, and everyone’s coats still hung to the right--including the garment bag he’d had ready for the evening the bombs fell.

Saturday morning, Jacob had dropped Carey off at work. The Pharmacy Corps veteran had brought his uniform with him, to change into after his shift. Their neighbor, Nate Murphy, was also a much-decorated veteran of Anchorage, though he’d been at the Alaskan war front as a soldier, while the chemist had stayed on base here in Massachusetts. Nate was to give a speech at the Concord Veteran’s Hall that night, and everyone in Sanctuary Hills was going, out of a mixture of enthusiasm and moral support. Even Jahani intended to go, and Carey found it odd though never mentioned it.

But then, around 9:30, the screaming and chaos began. Carey had thought it had been yet another riot outbreak, but then Jacob’s sky blue Chryslus Coupe jumped the front curb, and he got out without turning off. The thirty-some blond hopped the counter and, beyond words, dragged Carey out of the pharmacy by the wrist. Because the chemist’d had his nose buried in his work, the repairman had heard news of the apocalypse first. Walden Drugs didn’t have a television in its waiting area.

“Angel!” Jacob demanded. “Go home. Wait for us there.”

“Mister Hawthorne--” Angel looked between the two of them, trying to follow both figuratively and literally. It read the gravity and concern in his voice. “Yes, Sir.”

Carey tried to pull away from him.

“Jacob, if this is about keeping me from going tonight--”

The blond threw him into the passenger seat and slammed the door, to get in the driver’s seat himself.

“We have to go, Carey. Now.”

“But I didn’t clock out--”

“It’s started. Those fucking pieces of shit--”

Jacob turned on the car radio, and didn’t have to tune--the news was on every station.

“--We’ve lost contact with New York and Philadelphia. Confirmed nuclear detonations across the country. A blast, followed by a bright flash of light. Take shelter, if you have it. Oh. God help us all--”

“We don’t have much time. Can’t even stop at the house first. I’m gonna park at the foot of the hill and you get a head start running to the military check-point. Okay? I’m one step behind you.”

Except, the military check-point had rejected the non-veteran in favor of the veteran. Unable to bring himself to think again so soon of his roommate’s fate, he instead recalled the frost-mangled countenances of everyone back in the vault. Nate never would get to deliver his veteran’s speech. Heart stabbing his arm, the chemist unzipped the garment bag, to find the Pharmacy Corps uniform nearly pristine. The nameplate read A. Carey. His hand clapped to his mouth, and he collapsed in the mudroom to his knees in tears.

“Of all the things to have survived in tact--”

He laid in the floor for some time, cradling the garment bag, and he finally let himself cry out the trauma after days spent in total shock. Angel came to the doorway once it heard him.

“Sir, are you... are you injured?”

“O-- only spiritually.”

With a series of hard snorts and hacks, and a face a blur of swelling, he proceeded to try to focus on picking open all the lockers to retrieve valuables. In addition to smoking paraphernalia, timepieces, and a few hats including a visor, he also obtained several wallets; all of these, he poured into Angel, with the sacked uniform folded neatly atop the entire cache. The finesse of such a task grounded him enough to move on, ears no longer ringing by the time they left the pharmacy.

As the two exited to the street, they noticed nearing gunfire and panicked to outpace it. Slowing a bit a few blocks later, a winded Carey came across a body on the sidewalk, and he knelt down to remove the canvas hood. Deranged from the day, he put it on and aligned the small eye-holes, and pushed onward in the hopes nothing else would recognize him from that point onward.

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#fallout 4 fanfic #fo4 fanfic #disabled sosu #sole survivor #trans sosu #fo4 oc #fallout 4 oc #fallout 4 #mr. handy #melancholy #the anatomy of melancholy

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elevanetheirin · 7 years

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I was tagged by @princessvicky01 Thanks for the tag!

Here are her questions

1) What was your first pet? If you’ve never had one is their one you would like? My Mother got a dachshund when I was about 5 her name was Gretchen she was our first collective pet. Years later I got a German Shepherd Collie mix I named Belle, do the french word not the Beauty and the Beast character.

2) If you could only replay one game forever, what game would it be? Probably DAI or DAO I tend to play DAO more.

3) What was/is your favourite subject at school?Why? History, I just loved everything about it. Learning what people did, how they reacted what happened. Sadly the US doesn’t have as much history as Europe and I missed out on taking European history when I moved from NC to AZ

4) Do you prefer to be too hot or too cold? Too cold, I can always put on more clothes, you can only get so nekkid

5) Do you have any hobbies? If not is there any you want to try? I crochet, knit, read, draw, make 3D/cgi art and I toy with mods for my DAO

6) Whats your favourite restaurant/eat out food - Italian, Chinese, Mexican ect Steak...like a good steak so Texas Roadhouse here but in Memphis my favorite was The Butcher Shop (yes, that’s a restaurant and a nice one) Ruth’s Chris was disappointing so I only went there once.

7) Mages or Templars? Why? Mages, but because the mages are an oppressed group of people who should at least be given the chance to prove they’re not what the Chantry claims.

8) Favourite film/movie genre? Horror, but like GOOD Horror not that stupid crap like Scream. I LOVED the SAW movies, and I really like Babadook lol. I like Horror movies that make you think. I’m not about the jump scare thing. I also really liked the first Hostel movie, after that they kinda went to shit.

9) Whats your spirit animal/daemon aka the one that represents your personality? I suppose a dog, I’m pretty loyal I guess. Ok so lets be honest, I have no idea lol

10) Cullen Rutherford shows up at your house. What do you say/do? After I stop screaming? Beg him to stay ROFL

Ok, so I am going to actually add some questions this time and tag people

1) Who is your favorite (non-romanced) DA Character and why?

2) Besides the Dragon Age Series what is your favorite game?

3) What is your favorite food?

4) Wireless mouse or corded?

5) Favorite season of the year and why?

6) What is your favorite holiday?

7) What book or series have you read several times?

8) Alistair or Cullen? Why? (bwahahaha)

9) Do you have special dietary needs?

10) Milk and Cookies or Coffee and Biscotti?

I’ll tag @inner-muse @gugle1980 have another set of questions lol @casuallyfereldan @sassylavellen because I am now tagging you in everything

@greyspectreofkirkwall @ladynorbert @motherofgriffins @starsandskies and @dragynfox you don’t have to keep it going unless you want to. Also, anyone who wants to answer these questions is welcome to but tag me in your post so I can see because I am nosy

#10 questions

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lostdogsminnesota · 5 years

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Lost Dog- Big Lake- German Shepherd Dog- Female Date Lost: 04-20-2019 Dog's Name: Gretchen Breed of Dog: German Shepherd Dog Gender: Female Closest Intersection: 201st Ave NW City where Lost: Big Lake Zip Code 55309 County: Sherburne Color: Black / Tan Dog's Age: Puppy Dog's Size: Medium Any information on how lost, description, etc: My black lab/husky mix ran out in the woods on the elk river off of 201st Ave NW.... my baby German shepherd followed her.... black lab mix came back... German shepherd didn't... CONTACT kristina Phone: (763) 229-9634 More Info, Photos and to Contact: http://bit.ly/2GvE378 To see this pet’s location on the HelpingLostPets Map: http://bit.ly/2URhLXP Let's get Gretchen home! #LDoMN #HelpingLostPets http://bit.ly/2VVYAIP

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guhudude · 7 years

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Tagged by: @omuii le geef

Rules: Answer these 92 statements and tag 20 people

LAST: 1. Drink: coke  2. Phone call: probably my mom  3. Text message: to my girlfriend: ^_^  4. Song you listened to: Free -6LACK  5. Time you cried: uhhhhhhhhhh I think it was two weeks ago when I was frustrated with my family for not treating me like an adult

HAVE YOU:  6. Dated someone twice: nooo  7. Kissed someone and regretted it: yes but I barely count it as a kiss lol. I was in 8th grade and gave my boyfriend a peck on the lips and the whole thing was so forced it was stupid  8. Been cheated on: don't think so  9. Lost someone special: yes  10. Been depressed: heck yeck   11. Gotten drunk and thrown up: yeah I was at a party with some friends in college and it was a great party most of the people were LGBT and everybody was really chill but I just really wanted to get wrecked lol. I started with beer because I thought that was all they had but then I found out they had Smirnoff ice and I started drinking those, and I played a drinking game with shots of Long Island iced tea.... best party ever even though I did get sick twice

LIST 3 FAVORITE COLORS:  12-14: I can't believe this is just a clever way to skip my favorite number in the questions but ok: ultramarine blue, lime green, umm. Plum purple? Not all at once lol

IN THE LAST YEAR HAVE YOU:  15. Made new friends: yes  16. Fallen out of love: yes (only romantically)  17. Laughed until you cried: yes, usually because of The Squad, my Skype group  18. Found out someone was talking about you: yupperooza.  19. Met someone who changed you: hmmmm. I followed someone on tumblr does that count?  20. Found out who your friends are: yes  21. Kissed someone on your Facebook list: my gf ;)

GENERAL:  22. How many of your Facebook friends do you know in real life: almost all of them, so around 200  23. Do you have any pets: Sasha, a 6 year old border collie-husky mix who is black with blue eyes (she's a little brat who tries to trip everyone by tackling their feet), and Gretchen, a 11 year old German shepherd mix with a big belly (and a bigger heart) and a curly tail  24. Do you want to change your name: yeah, my legal name is both too feminine and too biblical. Hopefully someday I'll get to change it legally to Peri.  25. What did you do for your last Birthday: I honestly don't remember :') it was probably boring  26. What time did you wake up: I woke up at 9 surprisingly well rested  27. What were you doing at midnight last night: watching Jupiter Ascending which is one heck of a movie  28. Name something you can’t wait for: going to visit my geef in New Jersey again  29. When was the last time you saw your mom: I'm sitting next to her on the couch watching family feud right now  30. What is one thing you wish you could change in your life: GIVE ME THE HECKENING MOTIVATION!!!!  31. What are you listening right now: G-Mix: Russel on Spotify. I'm goin through all of their playlists. B)  32. Have you ever talked to a person named Tom: there were a few different guys named Tom at the campgrounds we used to go to every summer.  33. Something that is getting on your nerves: my LACK!! OF MOTIVATION!!!!!  34. Most visited website: tumblr, YouTube, kimcartoon

LOST QUESTIONS. I JUST PUT IN RANDOM INFO ABOUT ME  35. Mole/s: a few on my arms  36. Mark/s: fuckin perpetual acne and scars from it on my shoulders and back : ) a birthmark on my left side and supposedly one on the back of my neck but ofc I've never actually seen it -squints- a few freckles here and there  37. Childhood dream: to be literally every fucking profession. I wanted to be a princess, a fire fighter, a veterinarian, a cop, a psychiatrist...  38. Hair color: brown  39. Long or short hair: short, I look like one of the Beatles lmao  40. Do you have a crush on someone: does my gf count 👀  41. What do you like about yourself: I'm a good friend and I got a nice body 😘  42. Piercings: just 2, one traditional piercing in each ear. I really want a bar of some kind, at least one cartilage piercing.   43. Blood type: O+  44. Nickname: saoirse, seersh, peri, peridot  45. Relationship status: taken by my gf 46. Zodiac: sexy, sexy Sagittarius ;)  47. Pronouns: they/them or... ya know what idc actually any pronouns lol  48. Favorite TV Show: Steven Universe, Rick and Morty, Community 49. Tattoos: none YET  50. Right or left hand: right-handed though I am slightly better with my left hand at frisbee for some reason  51. Surgery: once I had a surgery on my tooth that never came down because the teeth on either side were too close together.  52. Hair dyed in different color: never :c  ... yet 53. Sport: I used to be in track/field for one year in middle school, I was horrible at it but I did the 200, high jump and long jump. When I say I was bad at it I mean I was Literally The Worst on the team by far. I like to watch hockey especially in the arena because it gets WILD in there. You get to hear all the crazy shit all the drunk fans are saying and watch people get into fights and yell at each other 54. was there a 54 before bc i lost it i guess? and i just copy-pasted the whole thing  55. Vacation: a nice little cabin in the woods with hiking trails around it would be perfect 👌 I'd also like to go on a cross-country road trip someday  56. Pair of trainers: these black ones with neon laces that I wear to work, my favorite ones right now that are black with stars that glow in the dark (I don't wear them to work so as not to wear them out), a pair of black converse and a pair of black and teal vans, both of which I've had for years MORE GENERAL:  57. Eating: nothing right now  58. Drinking: coke  59. I’m about to: READ A FUCKING BOOK FOR THE FIRST TIME IN 2 YEARS  61. Waiting for: me to get my shit together  62. Want: a raise? No? Damn. motivation??? .... shit.  63. Get married: someday, u know it -finger guns-  64. Career: artist/illustrator if I HAD THAT FUCKING MOTIVATION 👏👏👏 i have been wondering how I would do as a plumber tho.. 🤔

WHICH IS BETTER  65. Hugs or kisses: hugs ? 66. Lips or eyes: eyes  67. Shorter or taller: maybe.. a LITTLE taller????????????? if ANYTHING??  68. Older or younger: I am 19 and too far in either direction is Uncomfortable 😐  70. Nice arms or nice stomach: What Does This Mean (in general tummies are nice tho)  71. Sensitive or loud: hm?? I'm sensitive to loud noises???? I really don't know what this means  72. Hook up or relationship: relationship  73. Troublemaker or hesitant: "i’m a hesitant trouble-maker" -my gf and honestly, same

HAVE YOU EVER:  74. Kissed a Stranger: no  75. Drank hard liquor: hell yea  76. Lost glasses/contact lenses: I've briefly been unable to find them but I always find them again   77. Turned someone down: yes have you ever been friends with a Nice Guy  78. Sex on the first date: what is this... Sex  79. Broken someone’s heart: probably since I've turned people down  80. Had your heart broken: yeah  81. Been arrested: nope 😏don't plan on it either  82. Cried when someone died: umm I cried like a week after someone died does that count? My emotions are delayed sometimes  83. Fallen for a friend: ;) ye

DO YOU BELIEVE IN:  84. Yourself: barely  85. Miracles: not technically  86. Love at first sight: sometimes  87. Santa Claus: again not technically but I think he's a good symbol for kids and in general positive vibes during the holiday season  88. Kiss on the first date: yeanoooo.. it takes a while for me. When in doubt just ask. And listen to my response lmao (someone kissed me after I said no and MMM 😬)

OTHER:  90. Current best friend name: I can't just pick one 😫I have like 10 REALLY great friends I trust with my life   91. Eye color: grey-green  92. Favorite movie: the only movie I can think of right now is Jupiter Ascending because i just saw it last night and it's the first movie I've seen in months lol. OH FUCKING HECK INTERSTELLAR THATS MY FAVORITE MOVIE I LOVE INTERSTELLAR

NOW, TAG 20 PEOPLE: imma do what tessa did and tag the last 20 mutuals in my notes so don’t feel obligated to do this or even read it! also if you don’t want me to tag you in these in the future let me know and i’ll do my best to avoid it. @gordamnramsey, @mysteriousquartz, @celestialmoonlights, @viviannevendetta, @carryonmywaywardplanet, @jamesxfilesthemeroach, @lordsardine, @woahdaleks, @prettythinker, @belleweather, @squidego, @reck2468, @sexyninjakitty96, @animeandmanga-bearcat, @thesamanthagossamer

im actually gonna cut it off there at 15 bc i don’t have that many active mutuals lol oK HAVE FUN EVERYBODY make sure to tag me if you do this!

#long post #tag meme #text #mine #cursing #i don't normally tag cursing but for some reason i did it a LOT in here so #alcohol #i also talk abt that quite a bit here lol #about me #i hope everything is done and i didn't forget to edit something bc THIS POST IS BEING EJECTED INTO THE VOID

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mypositiveoutlooks · 5 years

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Tear-jerking friendship between dog and mailman goes viral

Fernando Barboza is a postal worker who enjoyed every single day of his job. As a mailman, he not only gets to deliver people’s letters and packages, he also gets to meet his favorite creatures in the world in all their shapes and sizes – dogs.

Courtesy of Chris Cimino | The Dodo

But there was one dog in particular who left a mark in him. It is a German shepherdnamed Gretchen, who was adopted by…

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#dog treats #dogs #Fernando Barboza #friendship #Gretchen the German shepherd #mailman #postman #shelter dog

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hwalights · 7 years

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ღ and ツ

ღ - mottos?

The best revenge is bettering yourself. -Zacky Vengeance ♡

ツ - any pets?

Yep! I have a black cat named Odin and a German Shepherd named Gretchen (even tho she stays with my dad)//ask the blogger!

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comdes-imogenmann3 · 6 years

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In the Waiting Room

“D’accord,” I told the concierge, and the next thing I knew I was sewing the eye onto a stuffed animal belonging to her granddaughter. “D’accord,” I said to the dentist, and she sent me to a periodontist, who took some X-rays and called me into his conference room for a little talk. “D’accord,” I said, and a week later I returned to his office, where he sliced my gums from top to bottom and scraped great deposits of plaque from the roots of my teeth. If I’d had any idea that this was going to happen, I’d never have said d’accord to my French publisher, who’d scheduled me the following evening for a television appearance. It was a weekly cultural program, and very popular. I followed the pop star Robbie Williams, and, as the producer settled me into my chair, I ran my tongue over my stitches.It was like having a mouthful of spiders—spooky, but it gave me something to talk about on TV, and for that I was grateful.

I said d’accord to a waiter, and received a pig’s nose standing erect on a bed of tender greens. I said it to a woman in a department store and walked away drenched in cologne. Every day was an adventure.

When I got a kidney stone, I took the Métro to a hospital, and said, “D’accord,” to a cheerful red-headed nurse, who led me to a private room and hooked me up to a Demerol drip. That was undoubtedly the best that d’accord got me, and it was followed by the worst. After the stone had passed, I spoke to a doctor, who filled out an appointment card and told me to return the following Monday, when we would do whatever it was I’d just agreed to. “D’accord,” I said, and then I supersized it with “génial,” which means “great.”

On the day of my appointment, I returned to the hospital, where I signed the register and was led by a slightly less cheerful nurse to a large dressing room.“Strip to your underwear,” she told me, and I said, “D’accord.” As the woman turned to leave, she said something else, and, looking back, I really should have asked her to repeat it, to draw a picture, if that’s what it took, because once you take your pants off d’accord isn’t really O.K. anymore.

There were three doors in the dressing room, and after removing my clothes I put my ear against each one, trying to determine which was the safest for someone in my condition. The first was loud, with lots of ringing telephones, so that was out. The second didn’t sound much different, and so I chose the third, and entered a brightly painted waiting room furnished with plastic chairs and a glass-topped table stacked high with magazines. A potted plant stood in the corner, and beside it was a second door, which was open and led into a hallway.

I took a seat and had been there for a minute or so when a couple came in and filled two of the unoccupied chairs. The first thing I noticed was that they were fully dressed, and nicely, too—no sneakers or sweatsuits for them. The woman wore a nubby gray skirt that fell to her knees and matched the fabric of her husband’s sports coat. Their black hair, which was obviously dyed, formed another match, but looked better on her than it did on him—less vain, I supposed.

“Bonjour,” I said, and it occurred to me that possibly the nurse had mentioned something about a robe, perhaps the one that had been hanging in the dressing room. I wanted more than anything to go back and get it, but, if I did, the couple would see my mistake. They’d think I was stupid, so to prove them wrong I decided to remain where I was and pretend that everything was normal. La la la.

It’s funny the things that run through your mind when you’re sitting in your underpants in front of a pair of strangers. Suicide comes up, but, just as you embrace it as a viable option, you remember that you don’t have the proper tools: no belt to wrap around your neck, no pen to drive through your nose or ear and up into your brain. I thought briefly of swallowing my watch, but there was no guarantee I’d choke on it. It’s embarrassing, but, given the way I normally eat, it would probably go down fairly easily, strap and all. A clock might be a challenge, but a Timex the size of a fifty-cent piece, no problem.

The man with the dyed black hair pulled a pair of glasses from his jacket pocket, and as he unfolded them I recalled a summer evening in my parents’ back yard. This was thirty-five years ago, a dinner for my sister Gretchen’s tenth birthday. My father grilled steaks. My mother set the picnic table with insect-repelling candles, and just as we started to eat she caught me chewing a hunk of beef the size of a coin purse. Gorging always set her off, but on this occasion it bothered her more than usual.

“I hope you choke to death,” she said.

I was twelve years old, and paused, thinking, Did I hear her correctly?

“That’s right, piggy, suffocate.”

In that moment, I hoped that I would choke to death. The knot of beef would lodge itself in my throat, and for the rest of her life my mother would feel haunted and responsible. Every time she passed a steak house, or browsed the meat counter of a grocery store, she would think of me and reflect upon what she had said—the words “hope” and “death” in the same sentence. But, of course, I hadn’t choked. Instead, I had lived and grown to adulthood, so that I could sit in this waiting room dressed in nothing but my underpants. La la la.

It was around this time that two more people entered. The woman looked to be in her mid-fifties, and accompanied an elderly man who was, if anything, overdressed: a suit, a sweater, a scarf, and an overcoat, which he removed with great difficulty, every button a challenge. Give it to me, I thought. Over here. But he was deaf to my telepathy, and handed his coat to the woman, who folded it over the back of her chair. Our eyes met for a moment—hers widening as they moved from my face to my chest—and then she picked a magazine off the table and handed it to the elderly man, who I now took to be her father. She then selected a magazine of her own, and as she turned the pages I allowed myself to relax a little. She was just a woman reading a copy of Paris Match, and I was just the person sitting across from her. True, I had no clothes on, but maybe she wouldn’t dwell on that, maybe none of these people would. The old man, the couple with their matching hair: “How was the hospital?” their friends might ask, and they’d answer, “Fine,” or “Oh, you know, the same.”

“Did you see anything fucked up?”

“No, not that I can think of.”

It sometimes helps to remind myself that not everyone is like me. Not everyone writes things down in a notebook, and then transcribes them into a diary.Fewer still will take that diary, clean it up a bit, and read it in front of an audience: “March 14th. Paris. Went with Dad to the hospital, where we sat across from a man in his underpants. They were briefs, not boxers, a little on the gray side, the elastic slack from too many washings. I later said to Father, ‘Other people have to use those chairs, too, you know,’ and he agreed that it was unsanitary.

“Odd little guy, creepy. Hair on his shoulders. Big idiot smile plastered on his face, just sitting there, mumbling to himself.”

How conceited I am to think I might be remembered, especially in a busy hospital where human misery is a matter of course. If any of these people did keep a diary, their day’s entry would likely have to do with a diagnosis, some piece of news either inconvenient or life-altering: the liver’s not a match, the cancer has spread to the spinal column. Compared with that, a man in his underpants is no more remarkable than a dust-covered plant, or the magazine- subscription card lying on the floor beside the table. Then, too, good news or bad, these people would eventually leave the hospital and return to the streets, where any number of things might wipe me from their memory.

Perhaps on their way home they’ll see a dog with a wooden leg, which I saw myself one afternoon. It was a German shepherd, and his prosthesis looked as though it had been made from a billy club. The network of straps holding the leg in place was a real eyeopener, but stranger still was the noise it made against the floor of the subway car, a dull thud that managed to sound both plaintive and forceful at the same time. Then there was the dog’s owner, who looked at his pet and then at me, with an expression reading, “That’s O.K. I took care of it.”

Or maybe they’ll run into something comparatively small yet no less astonishing. I was walking to the bus stop one morning and came upon a well-dressed woman lying on the sidewalk in front of an office-supply store. A small crowd had formed, and just as I joined it a fire truck pulled up. In America, if someone dropped to the ground, you’d call an ambulance, but in France it’s the firemen who do most of the rescuing. There were four of them, and, after checking to see that the woman was O.K., one of them returned to the truck and opened the door. I thought he was looking for an aluminum blanket, the type they use for people in shock, but instead he pulled out a goblet. Anywhere else it would have been a cup, made of paper or plastic, but this was glass, and had a stem. I guess they carry it around in the front seat, next to the axes or whatever.

The fireman filled the goblet with bottled water, and then he handed it to the woman, who was sitting up now and running her hand over her hair, the way one might when waking from a nap. It was the lead story in my diary that night, but, no matter how hard I fiddled with it, I felt something was missing.Had I mentioned that it was autumn? Did the leaves on the sidewalk contribute to my sense of utter delight, or was it just the goblet, and the dignity it bespoke: “Yes, you may be on the ground; yes, this drink may be your last—but let’s do it right, shall we?”

Everyone has his own standards, but, in my opinion, a sight like that is at least fifty times better than what I was providing. A goblet will keep you going for years, while a man in his underpants is good for maybe two days, a week at the most. Unless, of course, you are the man in his underpants, in which case it will probably stay with you for the rest of your life—not on the tip of your mind, not handy like a phone number, but still within easy reach, like a mouthful of steak, or a dog with a wooden leg. How often you’ll think of the cold plastic chair, and of the nurse’s face as she passes the room and discovers you with your hands between your knees. Such surprise, such amusement as she proposes some new adventure, then stands there, waiting for your “d’accord.”

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ipetadog · 7 years

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I pet a dog today, April 30th, 2017. My friend's puppy again, Gretchen! I think either Dutch or German Shepherd. She bit me with her puppy teeth a lot.

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stiles-wtf · 7 years

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Rescuers Find One of the Dogs Missing After Colorado Crash Kills Beloved Transport Driver

There is a small glimmer of good news out of Colorado this week in the aftermath of a highway crash that killed dog rescuer Charles Roberts on Friday. A long-time driver for Rescued Pets Movement (RPM), Roberts was transporting 26 dogs from Houston’s BARC shelter to rescues in Colorado when his van hit a guardrail and crashed. Roberts’ adult son Jared and the animals survived, but four of the frightened dogs ran off into the night. On Tuesday, the smallest of the missing dogs — a 1 ½-year old black Schnauzer–Yorkie mix named Coco — was finally recovered.

“She was a little dehydrated. No injuries. She’s lost a pound, but other than that she’s fine,” says Cindy Perini, co-president of RPM.

Coco was recovered Tuesday afternoon after spending five days out in the snow. (Photo courtesy RPM)

The three larger dogs — Willow (also known as Kelly), Powder, and Sandy — remain missing, but they may not be far. Coco was following fresh dog tracks when she was caught, and it’s believed she was with the other missing dogs. They may have been traveling in a pack since the crash.

According to Gretchen Pressley, community relations manager with the Humane Society of the Pikes Peak Region, a Pueblo Animal Services officer spotted three dogs together the day after the crash but was unfortunately not able to capture them.

Pressley tells Dogster that food and water stations are being monitored as the search for the missing trio continues. She says the other 22 dogs who were swiftly picked up after the crash have already moved on to the rescues they were originally en route to. Coco spent Tuesday night tucked in warmly at Farfel’s Farm Rescue in Boulder before heading to her new forever home.

Perini is certain Roberts would be glad of that. She says the retiree was very devoted to helping shelter dogs.

The folks at RPM are grieving the loss of driver Charles Roberts. (Photo courtesy RPM)

“Every Thursday for a year, he and his son had been doing this drive,” Perini explains. “When I asked him, ‘why do you do this, you’re retired?’ he said ‘I absolutely love it.’ He told me there’s no greater feeling than taking the animals that are here about to die and taking them someplace where they are wanted and loved.”

According to Perini, only two dogs were injured in crash that took Roberts life just before 3 a.m. A puppy’s toe was crushed and later amputated, and another dog suffered a dislocated foot. Most were unharmed — something Perini says is miraculous given the state of the van. The Humane Society of the Pikes Peak Region was on scene helping dogs almost immediately after the accident, and Perini hails its staff as heroes.

The work continues outside of Colorado City to find the remaining three dogs. Willow is described as a 75-pound, tan German Shepherd mix. Powder and Sandy are both said to be Pit Bull mixes. Sandy is the larger of the two and a nursing mother (her puppies were unharmed and safe). The search party is unsure if she is she is traveling with the rest of the pack.

Pictures of the dogs are being shared in person and all over social media. (Image courtesy RPM)

“Every imaginable resource is being used to find them,” says Perini.

Tracking dogs, foot searches, drone flyovers, and wildlife surveillance cameras are being used in the search. There’s still a lot going on, and the folks at RPM have not had much time to process the tragedy that took Charles Roberts’ life.

“We’ve been focused on the family,” says Perini, noting a Go Fund Me campaign that was started to help the Roberts family with expenses and a memorial service. That campaign exceeded its goal of $25,000 over the weekend.

Perini says RPM is looking at ways to improve transport in the wake of the crash, and is continuing to move animals out of Houston to other locations where they are more adoptable.

“It’s a terrible, terrible tragedy, but we have to carry on,” she explains.

“Right now we’re just trying to get through it and keep doing what Charles would have wanted, which is to keep saving and rescuing these animals.”

The post Rescuers Find One of the Dogs Missing After Colorado Crash Kills Beloved Transport Driver appeared first on Dogster.

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buynewsoul · 7 years