So here I am, feeling captive at Rose Blossom. I have surgery on June 1 for a tumor on my colon, and I can just envision coming back here afterwards. I will be expected to do everything for myself. I will also be expected to find another place to live because I am the dirty dog who called the Ombudsman and forced the owner to rid the place of bedbugs, provide healthy meals, etc. So this lazy Scrooge of an owner detests me. If I died in surgery, she would make a show of grief and inwardly laugh gleefully.
I hate this place. Thoroughly. I love the dog and the other residents, but the owner has set herself to make my life miserable, and succeeded. If she’s a registered nurse, I’m a ballerina. If she’s a Christian, I must be, well, I don’t know what. I could tell you how she had singled me out for humiliation, and the different ways this was accomplished, but you might find it hard to swallow. Like refusing to give me toilet paper. I was forced to use my washcloths. When Walmart began to sell toilet paper online, I bought a bunch of it! Rolls and rolls! At the Mother’s Day dinner, the others got ham, baked beans, etc. I can’t eat ham or beans, so I got dry rice and fish. I ate because I was hungry and left. That had happened at Christmas too. I am sick of being singled out to be punished. Treated like Cinderella. Not to mention the times she comes to my door and tells me I have to leave— NOW!!!
Mrs. Wonderful will meet her match one day. Meanwhile, I am tired, inside and out. I say as little to her as possible. And I am grateful to Christ for His gift of Life to me on the Cross. His gift is much larger, much stronger than any abuse owner can dish out. Christ overrides the most awful of circumstances. And He is always here for me.