The sad tale of Bloggie

I once had a pet that I loved. Let's call him Bloggie (in keeping with other similarly named pets I've had, including Tumbly, Piggie [that's a soft "g," as in pigeon], Blackie, and Callie). At first, I relished the thought of feeding him clever new words and grooming him with new links and gadgets.

But, like many kids with short attention spans, I eventually grew tired of Bloggie. He languished in his cybercage for days, even weeks on end. "What, you want more words?" I'd snap. "I just fed you a week ago!" Some of his links grew tangled, and I told myself I didn't have time to comb them out.

A presidential inauguration that I'd anticipated for so long came and went. I'd occasionally think about feeding Bloggie some of my thoughts (like the way the snowflakes winked and sparkled in the sunlight as they fell outside my window during the inauguration ceremony, made all the more profound by the closing lines from Elizabeth Alexander's poem, Praise Song for the Day: "In today’s sharp sparkle, this winter air,any thing can be made, any sentence begun. On the brink, on the brim, on the cusp, praise song for walking forward in that light."), but then it seemed too much trouble to shake Bloggie out of his torpor and apologize to him for being such a bad owner, and thought better of it.

But some readers (Pat) have apparently noticed Bloggie's silence, and are beginning to whisper about blog neglect. So, dear readers, what do you think? Is it time to take Bloggie to the pound in the hopes that someone else will love him, haul him out to the country and leave him near a friendly-looking farm, or put him down? (By the way, did it ever bother anyone else that that phrase is also commonly used for putting babies down for their naptimes?) Or should I give myself a good talking-to and develop a new, more mature appreciation for Bloggie?