This is an unverifiable story of speculative fiction; however, it’s still a great tale …

They told me the big black Lab’s name was Reggie, as I looked at him lying in his pen..  The shelter was clean, no-kill, and the people really friendly.  I’d only been in the area for six months, but everywhere I went in the small college town, people were welcoming and open.

Everyone waves when you pass them on the street.

But something was still missing as I attempted to settle in to my new life here, and I thought a dog couldn’t hurt.  Give me someone to talk to.  And I had just seen Reggie’s advertisement on the local news.  The shelter said  they had received numerous calls right after, but they said the people who had come down to see him just didn’t look like “Lab people,”  whatever that meant.  They must’ve thought I did.

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This past Friday I went to sign my Dogs up for welfare.

At first the lady said, “Dogs are not eligible to draw welfare”.

So I explained to her that my Dogs are mixed in color, unemployed, lazy, can’t speak English and have no friggin’ clue who their Daddys are. They expect me to feed them, provide them with housing and medical care, and feel guilty because they are dogs.

So she looked in her policy book to see what it takes to qualify. My Dogs get their first checks next Friday.

Damn this is a great country.

Hoping to get my dogs ObamaCare, too.