Hi you three!! *waves!*
I had to get some shizz straightened out in order to have an attention span long enough to write something that makes sense. At least, write something that makes sense to me. You just never know where that trip down the rabbit hole is going to take a person.
Sadly, after a damned good fight, my sweet puppy of 16 years, Casey, passed away from cancer.
Of course, there are always those kind folks who say "So what, it's just a dog." To them, I say "go fuck yourself, hard, raw, with no love, no money, no digits, a vicious hangover, and with no note in the morning."
She wasn't just a dog to me. She was my four legged, little hellion of a child. She did everything just as a child does. She shamelessly destroyed some of my most treasured pieces of crap. She trashed the house with in mere minutes after I had spent hours cleaning it. She mouthed off to me after I denied her a favorite treat because of naughty behavior, such as trying to eat a bird to show off to the pug that she's a bad ass bitch. Birds aside, she'd indulge in a gluttonous feast on food that was too rich for her, and then puke everywhere. She'd defiantly run away when I'd call her. She cost me more money than I could ever dream of spending in a PetSmart. On some days, she'd seem to openly like her father more than me. Pretty much just like a bona fide, flesh and blood child.
But none of that mattered, because she was the little, furry light in my life.
Casey's Auntie Kim said it the best, "She was there for all of the shit." And she was.
After being unheard of, and presumed dead for almost a decade, Mickey Rourke won some award for some movie. When he took the podium, his Oscar or whatever in his hand, he thanked his dogs. He wasn't fuckin' around either. Because sometimes, when the chips are down, shit is stinkin', and the people you think have your back have hit the floor, man's best friend is usually still there, trashing your house and eating your food.
For 16 years, I was truly blessed to have Casey in my corner. She was a devoted girl, and I knew I was lucky to have such a sweet puppy in my life. Midnight potty calls, the occasional stolen pork chop, and the $25 weekly tab in rawhides were a small price to pay for her happiness, and to show her how much I love her.
The house is quiet, and there's an odd emptiness with out her here. It's so quiet that I can't write. But I'm slowly getting used to not throwing my unwanted sandwich to the floor for her to come by and instantly chow it before I've even called her name.
Casey, my Schluppy Puppy, climbin' on yo' couch, eyein' yo dinner cookin'. Hide yo' noms. She eatin' everything up here.
Next week, back to business. But for now, I miss my puppy.