The World According to Bear

About me:

The first thing they usually look at is my teeth and mine are pretty gnarly. You see, I got bad teeth from chewing on the 24 x 24 x 24 metal pen I eventually escaped from in Lock Haven, Inglewood.

This, in fact, is my earliest memory. Don’t remember much else other than a series of popping sounds in the early morning hours, followed by screaming sirens. They all used to scare me, but I got used to them. Fire-hosing me at night would shut me right up. Not a whimper out of me after that.

To ease my anxiety I’d gnaw and gnaw on the metal as a way of easing my nighttime terrors. I always had a hard time sleeping at night—always looking over my shoulder for that stray bullet meant for someone else. Those fools can never seem to aim at the right target. Chewing was like a meditation for me. It kept me alert ready to pounce if I needed to.

The chomping and grinding meditation is why I actually have bad teeth as confirmed by the doctor lady my new owners now take me to. If I behave, I get a few lousy Vegan cookies, better than nothing. Seriously, what kind of dog likes Vegan cookies?!?

It is the Westside and here people think dogs are like their kids. It's a kinda f*cked up mentality, but I go along with it as long as I don't have to wear any stupid outfits. So, I’m polite and I eat them with a wag even though I’d rather eat tree bark.

Only one of them really “takes care of me.” The College girl who chose me is back in New York and the lady tolerates me. And none too well. Like she’s waiting for me to mess up. So, its’ basically me and Pops.

Apparently, I’m the family’s replacement lab that never fully meets expectations of the oh-so-perfect movie version of the yellow lab, Buddy I’m replacing. Buddy? Of all hackneyed names. I’m nobody’s Buddy. I make this clear every time we go out for a walk. (More on that later.)

At least I have that on this Buddy character whose memories are all over the house. They even have a dog-gone picture of Buddy prancing through the tall grasses and chaparral on the North facing slopes of the Santa Monica Mountains. It makes me puke a little every time I see it. (Don’t worry; I’m not stupid. I slop it up before anyone sees it.)

The new family calls me Bear because the girl who ditched me to go to college thought I looked like some kind of large stuffed bear she was once won down at the Santa Monica Pier. Before Bear, my previous owner called me Rocky. As in Rocky-don’t-f*cking-mess-with-me Balboa. Guess which name most suits me?

Well… you know that metal wire I told you about. I got through it and escaped to Crenshaw Boulevard over by LAX and lived behind a Dollar Store in Inglewood for a while until someone lured me with a half-eaten Mac sandwich and drove me off to a halfway house with of all things a pool!

That’s right a pool I could actually swim in, two big meals a day, and plenty of snacks too. It was like a Club Med paradise for singles.

I could have stayed there forever. That is until I heard the staff talking to a future caregiver that their policy was to hold onto us as long as they could before sending us to a City shelter. Apparently, the city shelters don’t have swimming pools and the food is pretty miserable. I hear it’s pretty desperate. (After two weeks, ashes to ashes).

I wasn’t ready to be a goner. So, on the 9th day when this young college girl sat down with me, I turned it on. I let her pet me, cuddle, kiss me on my nose. I did all these dorky things. I even took a selfie with her. Trust me. I never ever had done that before with a human. I have trust issues, which I’ll save for a later time.

Anyway, I made it through the first interview. I didn’t bite, lunge, or make a complete angry fool of myself as I did with other potential owners. Then, her parents showed up.

Off the bat, the lady took a disliking to me. Pops liked me fine. Pops and I developed a rapport on our first walk outside Doggie Land, which I learned was the name of the place I was living. Then the lady took the leash and we didn’t get far because I lunged at some aging sissy poodle who always tried to mount me during pool time. I’d rather not go into it now. I’m just not into that thing although many of my pals are.

Anyway, yeah, I f*cking lunged at the sissy bastard. The lady did not like that and when she tried to pull me back. I guess I was stronger than she and I ended up pulling her to the ground muddying up her white Lululemon outfit.

Not a good start. I admit.

The young girl and Pops helped her up and Pops took the leash. We walked around a few more blocks and they whispered back and forth. I have to say the young girl really poured it on for me shedding some real tears.

Long story short. I ended up jumping into their BMW heading off to the Brentwood!

This is where my story begins.

Signed,

Bear The Rescue Lab from Inglewood