smacky and bucky

It rained a freaking ton yesterday, all the way up to Philadelphia and 90% of the way back, so we had about seven hours driving with the wipers on high.

Why did we go to Philadelphia?

Allow me to introduce to you:


The amazing thing is Laura suggested the name, not knowing that's the name of my all-time favorite comic artist, Jack "King" Kirby. Jack Kirby is the master behind covers like these:



The sad news is that Kirby (the dog) had been in a puppy mill, meaning he spent most of the first six months of his life living in a crate, laying in filth and hardly getting out. The Kerry Blue Rescue Foundation saved him and spent a few weeks with a foster family, getting checked out by the vet. If there is indeed a vengeful God out there that deals out punishments for scumbag assholes, this puppy mill guy will spend the afterlife in a small pen of his own filth, between long sessions of beatings. Kirby is skittish, hyper-aware of noises, scared to go down the few stairs to our fenced backyard, etc. But we took him and our other dog to the dog park this morning so they could run around, and I took both of them for a walk this afternoon, and now the new boy is sleeping on the sofa with his head resting on my arm. We've had him just over 24 hours and he's already feeling comfortable. I told him he just won the lottery, because he going to be spoiled for the rest of his life.