Mugsy McGuinness is out on bail.

I came to work on Thursday at around noon and my supervisor (that's the deputy director of law enforcement at WHS, Mitch Battle) had just returned from a call with a tiny, matted white dog.
Despite his movement being restricted from ridiculous matting, he was wiggly and happy and silly (the little white dog, not Mitch).
I picked up the ball of tangled hair held it in my lap at the front desk of the Georgia Avenue shelter while Mitch was on the phone, making arrangements to have the thing sent to the veterinarian for an exam and shave down.

We were initially unable to verify that he was actually an intact male. His testicles were matted snug to his body and he smelled strongly of urine & feces.
This doesn't make my stomach turn like it probably should. I've just gotten used to washing my hands fifty times a day.
The gross little ball of hair was still excited about interacting.
And I went ahead and got excited about him being so gross but so adoptable (what, with his tiny stature & swell attitue & all), that I volunteered on the spot to foster him.

Later, Officer Gardner and I stopped by the hospital to pick him up on the way back to our office from some afternoon calls. When the technician brought our little nameless wonder, I burst into laughter. It was like he'd been stripped naked. He was completely hairless. As in not just a little hair, but no hair.
This is totally cool with me. Hairless = hilarious in my book, and hilarious = you can have my attention. I totally love hairless cats because they're so fun to snuggle. And don't say "ew" --because if you think it's gross, you've never snuggled a Cornish Rex. I think cat breeding is totally stupid, but if a friendly Sphynx ended up in the shelter, that cat would be movin' in to my house.

So, we took His Baldiness back to the shelter and returned to the office, and yesterday I got my paperwork in order to foster all 8 pounds of naked dog. He came home with me after work today.
We went on a walk with my own dog, 9 pounds of black fluff named Hank (truly "Henry Rollins" --but he quickly defined himself as HANK!, with an exclamation point.).
Hank was way cool about everything. I was impressed, in fact.




The first order of business was to get a shirt on this poor creature.
The second order of business was to call him something proper.
The most appropriate name I was offered came from a friend who took one look at a picture of him and declared "Mugsy McGuinness."
You're right. He DOES look like a Mugsy. And little dogs need two names. It's the least we can do to boost their dignity. That and carry him up & down stairs.

Mugsy was totally psyched to see the cat, Tobzilla, who outweighs both dogs (combined), but Toby perched himself at observation level and no standoff has yet occurred. Mugsy tries to figure out what Tobzilla is supposed to be, and Tobzilla acts all superior to the dogs, because that's how he rolls.

Husband Guy (that's Ian) & I spent much of the evening hanging out with the shrunken dogs and I found myself thoroughly entertained until bed time.
Which is now.

We've avoided any accidents in the house so far. Cross your fingers for us.


Eve