And yet I still feel bad for not adopting him.

I found a most intriguing thing in a magazine at the doctor's office. Of course part of the intriguing thing was that a) this bit of strangeness was in Esquire Magazine and b) there is an Esquire Magazine at the OBGYN. It's a little article editorial whatever you want to call it, two pages from the end of a very thick magazine, lurking like a poisonous snake in a mound of gold braid.

The title is "MY NAME IS SMOKEY" with subtitle "Do you have room for a special pooch like me?". Pictured with an image of a blue eyed dog looking up at the camera in a way that is only unnerving when you've stared at it for a while. It starts out normal enough, one of those appeals to emotion that make you feel like a horrible person for not owning at least one shelter dog.

( And then it gets...weird. )

There's a story hook somewhere in here. Family adopts odd dog, or some manner of Hellhound Rescue Agency promoting the adoption of strange eldritch canines. I just wish I knew what.