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On my 21st birthday, my sister showed me a picture of Chispa. Chispa’s owner could no longer take care of her, and she needed a safe home to go to. I, against my mom’s orders, decided to get Chispa and bring her home. Ever since then she has been an integral part of my life and my family. She helped me through some tough times as pets do for so many. In fact, in 2024, Forbes found that 66% of U.S. households own a pet. This number does not include those who may be living in untraditional households.
In fact, in 2023, Psychology Today reported that about 6%-24% of unhoused individuals have a companion animal. The bond that is created between an individual and their pet is a special bond; however, when a person spends their entire day with their pet that bond grows. In fact, according to Psychology Today, that bond is so strong that many who are unhoused will at times find food and clean water for their pet first before getting food for themselves. The commitment that these pet owners have to the safety and well-being of their pet is truly admirable.
Furthermore, the mental health benefits of having a pet while unhoused are immense. According to the Center for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) pets can help decrease blood pressure, cholesterol and triglyceride levels, anxiety, loneliness, etc. These benefits are attributed to the physical needs of the pet. In fact, the One Health Organization argues that dogs are great companions for anyone dealing with post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). Being unhoused and the anxiety that comes from that can create trauma and can bring a lot of uncertainty. However, having a constant, like a pet, can keep a person on a schedule and help feel some kind of comfort.
Not only can pets help someone with their mental health but they also help a person physically. Pets require constant exercise and mental stimulation. It forces a person to attend their pet and keep them active. This can ultimately lead a person to living an active lifestyle. Psychology Today argues that having pets can keep a person accountable and ultimately help their sobriety. Pets have both mental and physical benefits for those who may be unhoused.
I do not know whether our pets will ever know the significance their presence has in our lives or whether they’ll know that in fact they are the ones that save us. Regardless, the benefits of having a pet are immense for those who are unhoused. Pets can help them with their mental health during a traumaticuncertain time and can help them with their physical well-being while reducing their risk of multiple heart related diseases. Hence, it is crucial to protect our pets because they play a huge role in our lives just as we play a huge role in their lives.
Wendy Rojo is managing editor of STREETZine.
STREETZine is a program of The Stewpot.
The STREETZine is a monthly newspaper published by The Stewpot, a ministry of the First Presbyterian Church of Dallas. The Stewpot provides services and resources for people experiencing homelessness or who are at risk of being homeless. The organization also offers opportunities for a new life.
As part of this ministry, the STREETZine seeks to raise awareness about the issues surrounding homelessness and poverty. The monthly publication also offers financial opportunity for Stewpot clients who sell the paper to Dallas residents. Vendors are able to move towards economic self-sufficiency by using the money they receive from selling copies to purchase bus passes, food, and necessary living expenses. Clients also receive stipends for contributing articles to STREETZine
The content in STREETZine does not necessarily reflect the views or endorsement of its publisher, editors, contributors, sponsors or advertisers. To learn more about this publication, contact Betty Heckman, Director of Enrichment, 1835 Young Street, Dallas, Texas 75201 or BettyH@thestewpot. org. To read more about STREETZine, a member of the International Network of Street Papers, go to www.thestewpot.org/streetzine.
Managing Editor: Wendy Rojo
Editorial Advisory Board: The Rev. Amos Disasa
Brenda Snitzer
Suzanne Erickson
Russell Coleman
Poppy Sundeen
Sarah Disasa
William McKenzie
Betty Heckman
Dee Leone
Photo Editor: Jesse Hornbuckle
Editor’s Note: This essay is excerpted from an essay that Reverend Meagan P. Findeiss preached at the First Presbyterian Church of Dallas on Dec. 12, 2023.
When you think of the word comfort, what comes to mind?
Is it the remembrance of a hug, arms surrounding you, and being held by another? Is it the presence of a pet, their steadfast love panting right by your side?
Does comfort equate to the presence of love?
Comfort looks different from one person to another, but there is an element of love that is at play when one experiences comfort.
In the Anglican Church, during holy communion there is a specific part of the liturgy called the four comfortable words. It goes like this:
Hear what comfortable words our Saviour Christ saith unto all who truly turn unto him, “Come unto me all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.” Matthew 11:28, “For God so loved the world that he gave his only son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life.” John 3:16. “This is a true saying, and worthy of all men to be received, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners.” I Timothy 1:15 “If any man sin, we have an Advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ the righteous; and he is the perfect offering for our sins, and not for ours only, but for the sins of the whole world.” I John 2:1-2.
These words have been said for almost 500 years as a means to “strengthen” believers with the assurance of forgiveness. These comforting words remind us of the love in Christ Jesus.
In John 14:27, Jesus says, “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid.” “Jesus’ words” are a
Romans 15:4–6
4 For whatever was written in former days was written for our instruction, so that by steadfastness and by the encouragement of the scriptures we might have hope.
5 May the God of steadfastness and encouragement grant you to live in harmony with one another, in accordance with Christ Jesus, 6 so that together you may with one voice glorify the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ.
reminder that The Comforter is not fleeting, the presence of the Holy Spirit is not situated in one place, one person, one pet, but is an ever more presence.
One of the most comforting texts I find in the Bible comes from Psalm 147:3: “God heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.” The God of the ages, the God that transcends time and place, cares for and heals hurting hearts.
In the fifteenth chapter of Romans, the Apostle Paul writes about the importance of scripture and the importance of community and how through community we can proclaim our faith together. Sometimes, we might not be able to proclaim due to aching hearts, but the beautiful thing about community is that others can proclaim God’s goodness on our behalf. Their words of proclamation work when we are not able to find the words.
Sometimes, we might not be able to proclaim due to aching hearts, but the beautiful thing about community is that others can proclaim God’s goodness on our behalf.
In the not-too-distant past, I was out with my husband, and I fell. I found myself on the hot ground with everything before, and everything after, not mattering in that moment. The biggest issue at hand was how to get off the hot ground and how to process the pain.
When an injury, an illness, a death, a loss of any type occurs, there is a jarring halting of time. What happened before and what happens after becomes fuzzy, and
Continued on page 5
I have been blessed to have pets throughout my life. When I was about three, we got a dog. We went to the shelter – and we believed she chose us. She kept following us in and out of the building and wanting us to pet her. Blackie, such an original name, was so sweet and we had her well into my early adolescence.
We added to our collection of pets, another dog from a litter of our next-door neighbor’s dog. We named her April though she was born in May. We had a few horses and barn kitties through the years. And then a progression of dogs, I remember each one fondly, Freckles, Brandy, Kelsey, Sheldon, Rufus (acquired from my husband’s girlfriend before we married), Buddy, and Ace.
Most we got from shelters, some showed up on our property from someone dump-
ing them, and a couple of times I tried getting purebreds as a novelty. I now only do rescues – “mutts are the best!” I pretty well named all of them…I loved coming up with their names. When my husband and I married, he had a tortoise-shell Persian named Gizmo. She was really sweet, but she didn’t live much longer and it worked out because my youngest son was allergic to cats, which he thankfully outgrew.
About 13 years ago, Buddy passed away, and our dog at that time, Ace, was getting older and so we rescued another dog and named him Jack. (We liked card games.) Jack’s name was appropriate because he was definitely a jumping jack – jumping our fence and couch. He was about a year old.
After Ace passed away, we later adopted a dog we named King. And last year we found a cat that was lost from someone around the ice storm and we couldn’t find the owner – and she ended up being pregnant and had five kittens. We couldn’t part with two of them so we now have Queen Kitty – the momma – and her two girls that we kept, Deuce and Diamond.
Our girls and boys are entertaining, cud-
dly, loving, and such a blessing. It is a lot of work taking care of Jack, King, Queen Kitty, Deuce, and Diamond – I won’t lie but it is so worth it. All my beloved pets have enriched my life.
I know that our friends who are unsheltered have the same love and attachment to their pets. I know how hard it is to even consider shelter if they can’t take them with them. I am grateful for the few kennel beds at The Bridge and wish there were more. It is so needed.
I know that our friends who are unsheltered have the same love and attachment to their pets. I know how hard it is to even consider shelter if they can’t take them with them.
As we pass through this life, having unconditional love from our furry friends makes life better. It is always so hard to lose a pet when they don’t live as long as us, but it is well worth the love and companionship. I can’t imagine life without my fur babies. I look forward to our writers sharing about the special pets in their lives.
Brenda Snitzer is executive director of The Stewpot.
They say it takes a village to raise a child. Jose Palacios would tell you that the same holds true for raising a dog. “A puppy is hard to take care of. It’s like a human. It needs a group,” he explains. The puppy in question is Furby, a fivemonth-old French bulldog, and the group includes Jose and three friends who share in her ownership. “It’s a team effort. When I leave somebody else has to take up the responsibility.”
Empathy with the struggle
Furby has been with the foursome since mid-May. She was the runt of her litter and had a scar on her head. “Nobody wanted that dog. She was so ugly we thought she was cute.” She also appealed to Jose’s first-person experience with hardship. “The other dogs in litter wouldn’t let her eat. It sounded like a struggle. And me, I struggled all my life. Everybody in the group felt the same way. We wanted to help her out because we’ve been through the struggle.”
Childhood experience caring for the underdog
Jose isn’t a novice at helping dogs in need. When he was a child in Eagle Pass, Texas, his family had a toy poodle. “Eventually, we got another dog, Blanca, to be her friend. She was so tiny — just the weakest thing. The other one would bite her and fight with her.” Jose fed Blanca by hand until she grew big and strong enough to fend for herself. “I have a tendency to take care of the weakest. It’s my protective instincts.”
A few years later, the dogs ran away from home — and so did Jose. At just 13 years of age, he walked across the border to Mexico and stayed. “A lady who couldn’t have kids took me in and took good care of me.” The balance of his teen years was marred by trouble. “I was doing bad things.” He was in and out of jail.
Home is where the dog is
Jose still lacks a place to call home. “I jump from couch to couch,” he says, often staying at the apartment where one of Furby’s co-owners lives. He’s been
without a permanent residence since his March 2024 release from prison, where he served time for drug and firearms offenses. Now he’s determined to make a new start. “It’s been difficult, but it’s a good change. I’m not falling back in my old ways.” Sharing responsibility for a dog is one way Jose avoids backsliding. “I need my mind to be distracted to positive things. It’s positive, because it keeps me away from bad habits, from the things I was doing two years ago.”
Finding a home away from home at The Stewpot
When Jose isn’t parenting Furby, he’s working on his art. He discovered The Stewpot Art Program shortly after leaving prison and arriving in Dallas. “The first thing I did was go to The Stewpot for my ID, my social — I needed a lot of help.” While waiting to see a caseworker, he saw a sign on the wall listing Stewpot programs. He decided to ask about the Art Program and got a meeting with program director Betty Heckman.
After demonstrating his artistic talent, Jose was accepted into the program. It’s been a lifesaver. “I wanted to do something with my life. I was hooked on crack for very long time. I needed something to take my mind off things and do something with my life. I’ve been using this program as therapy, so I’m grateful to The Stewpot and all the things they provide.”
Soon after joining The Stewpot Art Program, Jose’s dedication was put to the test. “Betty gave me a heads up that there was going to be an art show, but I didn’t have anything to show yet. I decided I just had to do something. I asked Betty for help, and she got me everything I needed and gave me full trust. It was a last-minute thing. I only slept four hours in two days so I could get it done.” The result was a painting of the sanctuary at Northridge Presbyterian, the venue for the art show. To Jose’s delight, his canvas was purchased by the church.
Currently Jose is working on a painting that depicts St. Michael battling Lucifer. When that’s done, he’s considering a more earthy subject for a painting: Furby, the dog with face only a parent — or in this case, four parents — could love.
Poppy Sundeen, a Dallas writer, is a member of the STREETZine editorial board.
Continued from page 2
there is surreal presence in the moment. Though it is a murky presence to be sure. After the rigmarole of what has to be done, what remains is a stillness, a deafening quiet, a reluctance of acceptance, a lump in the throat.
Scripture roots us in words that provide us with hope of God’s steadfastness and encouragement. In the book of Romans, the past is very much a part of the present circumstances the author Paul wrote about. His message spanned time.
The past conflict and the lingering hurting hearts were considered when Paul spoke to them about crucial and non-crucial issues. The painful past could inform their future, but it did not need to dictate it. Paul described to the community how scripture could provide learning opportunities for understanding God’s power, faithfulness, and love.
Paul inferenced that in looking to scripture, one can see how others had persevered through difficult times and demonstrated steadfastness in their hope and faith. God comforted God’s people through promises and presence. And God would do the same for the Roman Christians. The thread of hope interwoven through scripture and community was prevalent then and it remains prevalent today. God’s presence illumined through our working together and our respect and care for each other… even when differences arise.
There is a Buddhist story about presence where the curious narrator wanted to know how to pay attention to what is happening now and not be consumed by the past or be anxious about the future. The storyteller speaks to a wise person who shares with the inquisitor by asking, “where is the river?” The person looked down and responded, “Why, it is right here.” The wise person then said, “So it is with being present. The river brings with it where it has come from and where it is going, and right now it is a combination of all of the things, intertwining the past, the future and the present.”
Presence is a hard spot to be in when we can’t even swallow because of all of the pain, grief, hardship we have endured. And so we choose to work at it, like we do all hard things. A little bit at a time. Balancing the before and what comes after. Finding ways that feel right to invite the Spirit to come and comfort us.
Presence is a hard spot to be in when we can’t even swallow because of all of the pain, grief, hardship we have endured.
How might one invite the Spirit’s presence?
Presence can be found in acts of compassion, compassion for others as well as compassion for yourself. Researchers have found that when you are compassionate with yourself, it positively impacts your compassion for others.
Presence can be found in reading, where
we are able to release ourselves into a book and find comfort in another’s words. Presence can be found in poetry or music. Beautifully woven prose can hold the ambiguity of life better than concise chapters with headings. Musical notes can tell a story and can carry your soul through different stanzas, reminding you that there is something bigger. Presence can be found in being open to the receiving of love from others.
With my injury, I was made keenly aware that much of my support system was not nearby. In lamenting, clarity came, and I realized all I had to do was ask. I did not need to keep people away at an arms distance. Once I asked, I was astounded by the support. God’s abundant grace was received, and God’s presence was experienced because of my willingness to say, “Yes, please, I need you.”
Presence can be found in a variety of different ways. Exploring and finding methods that work for you is important because it allows your feelings to move from within to outside, as James Miller writes. When we do the dance of balance and find the presence of the Holy One, hope in God’s steadfastness and encouragement is ushered in.
Siblings in Christ, explore what works best for you, and remember that the comforting one is at hand, and always has been.
Reverend Meagan P. Findeiss is associate pastor for care and belonging at the First Presbyterian Church of Dallas.
Editor’s Note: Each Friday morning at 10 a.m., The Stewpot hosts a Writers’ Workshop. During the sessions, participants address selected topics through prose or poetry. In this edition of STREETZine, we feature the essays of writers that explore the pets and their lives.
For a few months after my roommate of many years passed away, I lived alone in an apartment. Mourning my loss, I was in no shape to look for another roommate and start over again. I had no family or friends. The thought of having a pet came to mind. A feline or a canine could be comforting as they shared many similar emotional expressions with humans. But their highly interactive nature would be too much for me, a mentally ill and autistic individual, to handle.
I looked around the apartment. It seemed stark, empty of any signs of life. But when I looked closely again, there was a spider, her body the size of a green pea, in shiny light amber, hanging out on her nifty little patch of web in the corner by the front door. She was hanging tight, not a leg stirred, a paragon of fortitude and patience. A warm and fuzzy feeling welled up in my chest. My heavy heart grew lighter in her presence. What a delightful find! Right away, I adored her and acknowledged her as my companion in the apartment.
She had moved in of her own accord. I didn’t need to go out, look for her and bring her home. With self-assurance and self-assertiveness, she had settled in quietly but vigilantly, unbeknownst to me. Had she woven her web at night? I googled what senses spiders have. To my surprise, they were simple and basic: touch, vibration and taste. They had many eyes but couldn’t see too well with them. They were indeed nocturnal creatures guided by their internal clock and a slight sense of light and shadow with their eyes. I marvel at the silk spun from spiders’ bodies, their elaborate weaving skills and the intricate webs they rely on to catch insects.
I visited my little spider every morning. Her pea-sized body was as perfectly round as her head. She was not doing summersaults or making faces as she must have been when weaving her web. But she was just as cute when stationary. She had to be aware of my gazing at her. Yet she was minding her own busi-
ness, thoroughly unconcerned. I had read somewhere that spiders avoided people, animals and insects except those intercepted by their webs. I smiled at the word “avoid.” My little spider considered me harmless. We coexisted peacefully.
One day, I decided to clean out her web that was loaded with carcasses of doodle bugs and other small bugs whose names I didn’t know. I skirted around her, making sure not to sweep her with my broom. She slowly and reluctantly dropped to the floor. I swept and mopped the floor. She was nowhere to be seen. The next morning, I found her in the same corner by the front door, hanging out on her new web that hadn’t been visited by any insects.
That same night, I woke up with an intense itch in my thigh. I gave it the hardest scratch I could muster and went back to sleep. When I woke up the following morning, the bite site had grown to the size and color of a maple leaf. In the center, an angry-looking bluish red pustule had formed where the venom had been injected. The pain and itch were getting worse. I grabbed two Benadryl pills and
swallowed them with water. Soon, I was knocked out and in a deep sleep.
When I woke up again, I went to check on my little spider. She was hanging out on her web that was still empty of any insects. It dawned on me that I had cleaned out her food pantry two days before when I cleaned up her corner. It could be she who bit me at night when she was looking for food as I slept on a thin mat on the floor. Since then, I refrained from cleaning her corner again.
After I moved out of the apartment due to not being able to manage financially and psychologically, I often thought about my little spider. Her sharing the same living space with me left me with fond memories. If she could be so calm and serene regardless of what’s going on, what did I have to be so anxious about? Perhaps I was not staying grounded and not staying in my lane, whereas she was the perfect model of stability in the midst of uncertainty.
QIng Zheng is a writer in The Stewpot’s Writers’ Workshop.
Growing up I had a dog named Buddy, which I know is a cliche name that many people use. Buddy was half golden retriever and half chow. He looked like a lion with fur that hung down. Once we even shaved his whole body and left a mane that was righteous.
Buddy was really cool, and he knew how to read human emotions. If you were crying, he would console you by giving you extra attention. If you were happy, his tail would wag, and he would try and play games. He turned up the energy as he jumped up and down.
Buddy once bit my older sister. That is the only time I ever recall him biting anyone. My older sis was always trying to drag him around, so we all thought it was hilarious. When he died, it was really tough for our family. My younger sister got his paw tattooed on her foot with his name and the years he lived.
Later, she had a pit bull named Max. Max was huge and extremely scary but never once bit anyone. One time his big head managed to lock the door with me stuck outside as he was causing a ruckus at my sister’s apartment in Huntsville. I had to wait several hours for her to return from class with a key to let me inside.
If there is one thing that I love more than all other things, it is my connection with nature and my love of pets. For most of my life I have enjoyed the company or simple-viewing pleasure of owning a variety of pets. From cats, rats, hamsters, dogs, lizards, fish and even a ferret, I have grown up with all sorts of creatures.
I learned that some are wonderful pets while others stink, destroy, bite, scratch, attack and usually end up costing a small fortune in repairs, doctors’ visits, or general upkeep. Regardless of all the bad choices I have made over the years in my pet selections, the two that I had the most heartfelt and genuine connection to were my pit bulls.
Even though this breed of dog has a bad reputation, I am a true believer in the fault lying with how they are raised. I did
When I drove 18 wheelers, I would dream of taking Max with me. But my family was nervous that he would run off in some random state and wouldn’t have been retrievable. Max went down in history as a great guard dog. He did get aggressive when my sister was being threatened or acted like she was being threatened.
Max taught everyone a lesson about judging dogs for their cuddly and nice looks. On first sight he could produce a scream or cause you to jump backward because of his size and mug. They spelled danger.
Other than that, our family once had a ferret. They are mostly friendly, weasel-type creatures who can stir up quite a smell. When our ferret got angry, it would turn ferociously into weasel-wild stances and lunge out of a curled-up position. It was harmless even with its sharp teeth and never bit anyone.
For fun, I used to hide FeeFee, the name my sister dubbed it, in my pocket and bring him to school. I would keep snacks and he would nudge slightly out of my pocket and grab the snacks quickly and then disappear into the comfort zone deep down inside my leggings.
I never got caught bringing FeeFee to school. But it sure raised a small fuss in class when other kids would see him briefly or when I showed it to them on
not raise my pits to be mean and attack. I chose to teach them how to be kind and loving.
I will be honest and say that my first pit bull was not an angel, but he was not taught to bite people and scare them. Everyone who knew him had a good relationship with him when they were at the house.
My second pit bull was my sweetheart. I was able to work with her and train her to be one of the best dogs out there. She did not even need a leash when we went on walks, although people that saw her wished she had one.
She was a rescue dog with cut ears, and I got her when she was around one year old. This is why I love the breed so much. I do not think she came from the best background, but she did not hold a grudge once she was in a loving environment. She turned into the sweetest dog
purpose. Most people never had a ferret or knew what one was. So, showing them one, or springing FeeFee on them, was always fun and eventful, if not peculiar. Now, I think of getting an emotional support dog. Most of my friends have one. But I don’t think I need the company 24/7 at this time. Soon enough, I’ll have one to take all my time and calm me down.
Sometimes animals can be too tough for people to handle, and I’ve seen situations like that, especially if you are homeless or living in a building that won’t accept pets. I know of one shelter in Dallas that accepts dogs when they have the room but not other animals like cats and definitely not ferrets.
It always been amazing to me that some animals save people from burning buildings, open and close doors, and run obstacle courses. Pets can be really protective but smart enough to alert others in emergency situations.
I’m thankful to have the resources to take care of and house an animal. I know many who struggle with that, and their pets suffer as a result.
Jason Turner is a writer in The Stewpot’s Writers’ Workshop and a STREETZine vendor.
anyone could ever have. In doing so, she made my world so much more complete.
This is what the true value is in having a pet. They bring us companionship, comfort, and a connection to another living soul. I cannot wait to get another dog, but I must ensure I am in a good place before I do. Unfortunately, most apartment complexes do not even allow pit bulls because of their reputation. That means it might be a while before I can get a new companion. I assure you when it does happen, it will be worth the wait.
Mike McCall is a writer in The Stewpot’s Writers’ Workshop and a STREETZine vendor.
I remember at a young age loving animals. The first time I went to the circus and saw the lions and the elephants, I was in love. And I loved it when my mother would read me stories. Dumbo, the flying elephant, and the Three Little Pigs were my favorites.
At an early age, I was going to be an animal trainer and have panthers, eagles, tigers and maybe ferrets. So, I started with gerbils and even had a turtle. I also raised scorpions and even had tarantulas. I’ve rescued birds and adopted big lizards.
As a boy, I found a baby water moccasin and brought it home. The snake crawled out of the bowl I had put it in and hid in my room. The search began. After searching the floor, I began checking my bed. It was all curled up under my pillow. That was the end of my snake curiosity. No more snakes unless they were part of belts or boots.
Tropical fish were very therapeutic, even
All of the animals, whether they are pets or wildlife, are God’s creations. They are beautiful in their own ways. Lots of people have some type of common pet: dogs, cats, parrots, horses. A lot of pets help people, such as those with disabilities. Seeing-eye dogs help people who are blind; medical-service dogs help people with epilepsy and other medical conditions; and emotional support dogs give their owners a companion. They give unconditional love, and they also know when people are sick or having some other medical issues or mental issues.
There are also special-service dogs for law enforcement and fire dogs. Search and rescue dogs, as well as fire dogs, are considered officers.
Emotional support dogs do the same as the other service dogs, especially for post-war veterans. The search and rescue dogs were especially instrumental during 9-11, helping to search for survivors. To my memory and knowledge, one search dog died while trying to find people in the rubble, and his officer/owner was given a Purple Heart in his honor. I remember crying when I read that.
though they were one of the more difficult creatures to take care of. Testing the waters and cleaning tanks was a lot of work. But it was beautiful to watch the fish swim so elegantly.
My parents had a dachshund, which I would tie up while watching Bugs Bunny and the Roadrunner and then roll her around in my wagon until my brother caught me. Cookie was there when I fell asleep and then return to my parents.
I bought a Doberman pinscher puppy when I grew older. Major, a real beauty, was raised with tiger cubs, When I went to pick her up, she was there with the cubs. She grew into a beautiful silver doberman, which they call blue Dobies.
After military school I fell in love with my brother’s dog, Shadow. He was a little runt that bit my ankles when I jumped over the fence to come in my brother’s house through the sliding glass door (with permission). He was the cutest even though my friends thought otherwise. Shadow was by far the bravest of all my dogs.
My husband and I have three emotionalsupport dogs and three supportive cats. Like dogs, the cats are really good companions, but they are different in their ways and attitudes. For example, you don’t adopt a cat; a cat adopts you! That’s the unwritten rule about cat attitudes!
Since my husband and I rescued our pets, they have become loyal to us. I once read that cats were noted to be Egyptian gods and goddesses. Ever since then, they have not let humans forget that! Yes, cats can be finicky, but they do clean themselves. I consider all my pets my children, each with their own personality and ways of doing things.
In addition to our pet dogs and cats, we also have had pets of a different, wilder kind! My husband and I once rescued a baby armadillo that was weak and needed water and food. I didn’t know how to care for it, so I had to research what to feed it! We put him in a kennel with some leaves and twigs, and he rearranged his bedding, then he curled up and went to sleep.
I spent the next morning trying to find a rescue group to take him, and I finally found one. We never found the mother
I have had others through my adult life: Scrappy, a Jack Russell terrier that liked to tear up things; Scrappy’s son Sky, who would dance with me and had great balance while walking on his hind feet; and an adopted puppy named Kreasie, who became my pillow when he grew up.
I even had cats, one of whom I found hissing at me from some unpacked boxes. It was all black and had a broken tail. I figured this cat represented me because I had had a rough life, and my story was kind of broken, like the tale of someone escaping hell. So, I picked up the little black kitten and kissed her on the head. I named her Cimba.
Today, beautiful birds visit me in parks and outdoors. Ravens, blue jays, crackles, cranes, sparrows and many more.
Like Noah, God has given me many gifts.
James Varas is a writer in The Stewpot’s Writers’ Workshop and a STREETZine vendor.
or other babies, but before he left us we named him Dandy Andy Armadillo. We later received a picture of Dandy Andy with his new roommate at the rescue!
I wish we had the means to help with the rescue groups. But we’ve helped several critters out here in the woods, and in return, they don’t hurt us. It’s kind of like a silent understanding between us and them, and it’s heartwarming to me.
Dedication:
I dedicate this story to all the wonderful people who have made it their life’s mission to help the animal world!!
Vicki Gies is a STREETZine vendor and frequent STREETZine contributor.
The best things in life are free. The best things in life are given to me. The best things in life are apparent to see. The best things in life are the best things to be.
Gershon Trunnell is a writer in The Stewpot’s Writers’ Workshop and a STREETZine vendor.
It was less than a year after my pit bull Mohammed passed away due to cancer that I found myself scrolling through an animal shelter website. Mohammed was 14 when I had to have him euthanized because, as the vet explained, the only treatment costs thousands of dollars (which I didn’t have), would likely fail, and Mohammed was in a great deal of pain. He had been with me his entire life, and after saying good-bye to him, I didn’t think I would ever adopt another dog.
But as I was scrolling, the images of this one dog caused me to stop and read her story. She was a pit bull, like Mohammed. She somewhat resembled an American Staffordshire, except that the dog in the photos was so skinny it was hard to tell.
Judging by her size as she stood next to the kennel tech in the photo, she probably should have weighed 60 or 65 pounds. She weighed 30. She was so emaciated that she hardly looked like a dog at all, and her head looked far too large for her body. She was just recovering from kennel cough and, due to ill treatment, she had a lot of other medical issues.
She went to a foster before coming to me, to give her more time to recover. Still, within 24 hours of adopting her she almost died because she’d contracted pneumonia on top of the kennel cough. I had to take her to an emergency vet. When we got there, they said the only thing that had saved her overnight was
I had a pit bull called Blue. I loved Blue. My cousin Tracy gave me her when she was a little puppy.
Blue and I used to do everything together. She loved kids and kids loved Blue.
She was the only pit bull and dog I ever owned. But she got sick with domestic mange and started missing hair. I took her to the vet, and he cured her with medication. Soon, she was better and back playing with the kids.
She used to love sleeping in her kennel at night. Sometimes, she would get in the bed with me. I used to reward her with
that I had been pumping on her chest every 15 minutes to be sure she got enough oxygen.
At any rate, she did recover — no thanks to the agency from which I adopted her, I might add. When the vet called to see if they would be willing to pick up the tab, since I had just adopted her, they declined. They said they couldn’t afford to put any more money into her, but if I wanted, they would be happy to euthanize her for me. Of course, I was horrified by their offer and said, “No thank you.”
A couple of weeks after Harley recovered, I was telling the story to a good friend from college. She and I both, at different points over the years, have volunteered at no-kill animal facilities, and I guess I just assumed she would share my opinion in being horrified that shelter would adopt out a deathly ill dog and then refuse to pay for medical care.
But I was mistaken. In fact, not only did she think the shelter was in the right, she accused me of being wrong for having adopted in the first place. She said, “I just can’t believe they allow homeless people to adopt dogs! It seems so irresponsible.”
I really didn’t know what to say. I was so blindsided by her comment. It took me a while to recover from it and during that time I spent a fair amount of energy questioning whether or not she was right. In her view it was abusive to be “dragging a dog around like that with no home,” exposing them to the elements, letting them eat food that other people had dropped or curl up on a blanket on the sidewalk.
treats every time she did something good and even sometimes when she was bad.
I used to catch the train and bus with Blue. We went all over town. Where I went, Blue went, too.
But my dog got sick with domestic mange again. It came back worse than the first time. I was very sad when she didn’t want to do anything. Blue didn’t want to eat anything, not even her treats. She got so sick that I had to take her back to the vet once again.
She was really sick, and they said she would end up dying soon. I was very sad and hurt when I had to put her to sleep. The look she had for me made me feel sad. She looked at me like. “You are go-
But the more I thought about it, the more I began to see it from the dog’s perspective. What dog would not prefer to be with their human all day rather than be left at home alone for hours at a time? What dog ever disliked a little fresh air or the chance to snuggle with their human if the air was brisk? And what dog wouldn’t like to eat an order of McDonald’s fries that someone accidentally spilled on the sidewalk?
And then there are so many agencies — mostly rescues from where the dogs are adopted, but other places too — that offer free dog food, vaccinations and other supplies to those who are low income and/or homeless. Why? Because the rescues and shelters are overflowing, and those who work in rescue know that it’s better to send a dog to live with a loving, caring human who is homeless but committed to keeping them safe and happy than it is for that dog to remain at the shelter and not be adopted. Even if the shelter has to provide free supplies, it’s better than the alternative if that dog is eventually labelled unadoptable.
Not all shelters allow the homeless to adopt dogs, but in my opinion they should. I know that my life living in my car was made so much richer and less abysmal by the presence of Harley. And now that we’ve come through this together, she does have a home, where I make it a point to spoil her far more than I probably should.
Savita Vega is a writer in The Stewpot’s Writers’ Workshop.
ing to let them put me to sleep?”
Blue is gone now in heaven with God. I want to see her there one day.
I miss and love Blue, the only dog I have ever had. I think of having another dog one day. But I will not have another Blue.
Rest In Peace, Blue.
Darin Thomas is a writer in The Stewpot’s Writers’ Workshop.
“For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith — and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God, not of works, so that no one would boast.”
Ephesians 2:8, New International Version
These words are great and can’t be bought simply by wealth; they reign peace so strong and it lasts so long.
Doubt is extreme. Doubt is dispatched easily.
So strong it can make you disagree. Helps people forget what they know and can’t believe.
But what I write is well thought through, I can’t imagine life without hope.
Grace tears me up. It’s hard to grasp, not to mention grace is free. Received by too many ungratefully,
blessed to say no longer me.
No feat of volunteer or charity. No, that won’t do, you can’t achieve. Not a plaque or PhD or degree, amount of money in paid off fees can one purchase grace given generously, just have faith continually.
Through faith is the only way, you’ll know it on that day. When you feel it as you pray, tired and ashamed, you do it anyway.
You know it beyond all reason, through any kind of season, not trying to be appeasing, listening and straight believing, relentlessly never ceasing, a lie they said as they were teasing. Faith steadily increasing.
How I found peace destroying doubt can cause amazement.
I now deal with doubt courageous, I practice to make outrageous.
Growing up in Dallas, Texas, I have had a real good relationship with animals. My mother got me a dog for my fifth birthday. I got a “soona” (sooner or later you figure out what it is) for a pet — a beagle and dachshund mix named Sam. He went everywhere I went and was with me everywhere I was. He looked like a hot dog in cow fur.
When I was on my way to school, he would wait outside the door I went in and sometimes get in and come to my classroom. I would have to take him home or let him sit in class with me. I never heard him growl or show any aggression in a mean way. My mom called him Sam the Shocker because he sang “I love you.” Or so it sounded like he was singing but those three words came out of his mouth. I will always remember Sam.
Later in life I ended up with a long-hair Siamese cat named Momas. She was my favorite pet of all. She was a fighter but she was protective of me. She was alert at all times. She would jump and lie on my shoulder and hug me.
I was told that I have a gift with animals. But the animals are a gift to me.
Gershon Trunnell is a writer in The Stewpot’s Writers’ Workshop and a STREETZine vendor.
I just admitted I can be easily be tricked and distracted at any moment. But see I can just refocus, God is here and we all know it.
I accept that I’m not perfect, I’m so pleased to still have purpose. Content and well, it’s worth it, I claim no credit, didn’t earn it. Lasting longer than I urged it. Doesn’t mean that it stops hurting.
I am waiting to apologize and be corrected.
Hands to myself when disrespected. It only takes a second, too much is only if you let it. Don’t jump to conclusions, you’ll regret it. Release your mind from self-regression. I’ll conclude on this long session, grace is great, y’all, that’s the lesson, now I’m eager to accept it. Awestruck is my best expression. Grateful grace is what I’m telling. My intentions are for wellness.
Jason Turner is a writer in The Stewpot’s Writers’ Workshop and a STREETZine vendor.
The Substance of Things Hoped for By
Will FergusonI remember when I was very young thinking that I would like to be a counselor. God’s dreams were inside me. After all, He promises, among many things, to give me the “desire of my heart.”
But somewhere in the due process of time, I got sidetracked. A counselor, you see, is unselfish and compassionate, even sympathetic to the problems of others. But I spent years of hiding and modifying myself in some kind of chemical solution. I became homeless and separated from loved ones because of my bad choices and decisions. The original dreams of my early years and hope for the God-given purpose became lost in delusion and covered up with a multitude of regrets.and shame.
Those original dreams and hopes, however, have returned as only what can be a gift from God. I don’t deserve it, but now I can run with purpose in my whole heart. Those long-ago dreams from the Creator now sound brand new. With His song in my heart, I have the hope of the ages. The song is this:
You’re doing a new thing inside of me.
You’re always so faithful with amazing love that I don’t deserve. You still pursue me, soaring in sweetness. Your presence consumes me, O’ Faithful One.
I was made for your glory.
I heard your words, that it is better to know you.
Strong in my weakness that all I go through. Faithful like you is my one desire. Yours everlasting, I can dance on forever.
Will Ferguson is a writer in The Stewpot’s Writers’ Workshop.
ESOE & Portrait
By Cubby LuvEast Side Oakland Ecstasy or ESOE (pronounced eey sooo) and Portrait, were my esteemed pit bulls.
Let’s start with ESOE’s bad self. That was my living headache of a pet. He was the one that when we find doo-doo behind the couch or in the middle of the kitchen floor, ESOE did it. No doubt in my mind!
I will never forget the very first day the white-and-powder blue, patent leather North Carolina Jordans came out. I brought them home after spending the night outside of Footlocker. I sat them next to my outfit on my bed. I left the bedroom door cracked, thinking the dogs were outside, and when I got back, my sister had let the dogs in, and to my unsurprise, ESOE came into my room and decided it was okay to make my brand new dream shoes a play toy, and before I could wear them, this dog chewed my
Pet parenting while homeless? Huh? For me at least, pets are a sizable chunk of what makes a home in the first place. If you have a pet, that is home, right? And over the years, you’d have thought I was building an ark: two degus, a ferret, tree frogs, a hedgehog named after my mother, a Brazilian opossum, an albino rat, a pot-bellied pig, and procession of dogs and cats, including one named Miss Kitty who turned out not to be a Miss at all. We don’t bat an eye at spontaneous genderadjustment in 2024, but in early 90s’ North Texas, it ranked right up there with the shock of learning that Count Chocula might not have the noble resume he claims. All this leads to Muggie, who is not with me now, with whom I don’t currently make a home, and who embodies — though hopefully not forever — the failure that is me.
Muggie is a somewhat spoiled Shih-tzu. He doesn’t particularly like other dogs, or other living creatures, or walking, or much of anything beyond his dad and his sexual indiscretions. Both of these he pursued with admirable zeal. Responding to the alleged discretions, Muggie invoked his Fifth Amendment protections, not unlike a common former president. While I was recovering from a major hospitalization, as my marriage was actively dissolving,
brand new $170 pair of luxury footwear to ruin.
Can you imagine the anger level I rose to at that moment? But being that I know how risky my dog was, there was nothing I could do. This dog was just plain worse than a terrible two-year-old toddler. Barking all hours of the night. But that was my boooyyyy.
Then you had my princess, Portrait. She was special, quiet as a mouse. Portrait had one green eye and one brown-hazel eye — sandy brown fur with a white stripe down her head to her tail. She would just lie next to me and stare at me. I named her Portrait because, unlike ESOE, she would not move giving me opportunities to draw portraits of her.
Portrait was potty-trained and really good. Her only “pet peeve” was people who got too close to me, were too loud or made gestures she thought were threatening. The scary thing about Portrait was
and as both my job and NYC lease were ending, Muggie and I were inseparable. He napped with constructed disinterest through my hours of physical therapy; I disavowed any knowledge of the unspeakable acts he committed with a fellow patient’s prosthetic leg. He traded his Brooklyn digs with me for Texas. And yes, he wasn’t far when I jumped wholehog back into a destructive habit that has been, sadly, my constant companion for more than half of my life.
My dad and I quickly reached the uncomfortable détente that is “don’t know where you’re going, but you can’t stay here,” and off I went into an existence with far less mooring than I had previously understood. Though I no longer blame my dad for not wanting a front-row seat for all this, it certainly added fuel to the fire that was my burgeoning relapse. At the time I had both drugs and money, so I was confident I’d make it through. I worried, though, about Muggie. Or more to the point, I worried that his tagging along would be a mere complication for me but a risk factor for him. What I hadn’t anticipated was that his not tagging along would, in fact, be a risk factor for me and a mere complication for him. I knew my dad would treat Muggie like a prince. I knew, too, that when I went on a bender, I sometimes didn’t come by the house for days. And so, I left Mr. Mugg with my dad—and in Fort Worth, of all places.
she wouldn’t really bark. She’d give a muffled like “aarf, aarf,” and then she was on you fast. She was the definition of no bark in her bite.
If you wanted to play, she was not friendly. Her brother was the dog you could play with. That is, if his amazing bark didn’t scare you off.
My babies were all I had. Unfortunately, ESOE got hit by a car. He got out of the yard one night, and a speeding car ran him over and kept going.
Portrait was murdered by Oakland police chasing someone through my yard. Doing her duty protecting my home, they shot her.
I loved those dogs.
Cubby Luv is a writer in The Stewpot’s Writers’ Workshop and a STREETZine vendor.
The cognitive dissonance between my self-image and the reality of a jerk who couldn’t maintain the lifestyle of a 10-lb. Shih-tzu was distressing and, conveniently, a ready excuse for relapse. In hindsight, once the drugs and money ran out, it probably was better that Muggie was with my dad. It was easier to navigate homelessness and move into a shelter without also needing to ensure his dayto-day care.
I have been judging myself a failure for having to give up my dog for homelessness and addiction, but the curtain has not yet closed on me. Neither active addiction nor my homelessness need be permanent. And this trajectory can be corrected. Moreover, the control of that correction lies with me, today. There are certain rather obvious steps I need to pursue—and am pursuing—so that I can be there for Muggie as he was for me. And, to the extent that I take those steps, maybe leaving him with my dad was part of me making a decision that was best for him, regardless of how I felt about it. L’Chaim to that.
Eric Oliver is a writer in The Stewpot’s Writers’ Workshop.
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