Dog Jones
It is coming up on a year since we lost our dog.
We didn't lose him, actually. He died.
To both credit and massacre George Carlin, when you purchase a dog you are, essentially, purchasing a tragedy. Either you will outlive the dog, or worse yet the dog will outlive you. Well, we outlived our dog and now I want another one.
I won't get one. The family is not ready to take in another living creature only to live in terror of it's ultimate demise. As for me, I'm prepared. That's what life with chickens and cows and sheep will teach you. Creatures die. You can focus on that or you can enjoy the strained mooing, soft bleeting, and comical clucking until you clunk them on the head and serve them up for dinner.
I don't plan on eating a dog. I just want to have a wet nose bug me in the middle of the night again. I miss that nagging feeling at 2:00 in the morning that I'm being watched only to open my eyes to see Bukka sitting in front of me waiting for me to get up and put his precious blanket back on top of him. I miss the soft, velvety head and ears and big, soulful eyes that frequently pointed toward the ceiling, exasperated with my stupidity. He just couldn't be bothered. But he did love me. He loved all of us, even though he was so much smarter, braver and more handsome than any of us could ever dream to be.
Perhaps we'll get a devoted little ankle biter next time. Or a parrot that can identify what different items are made of...SQWUAK! WOOD! SQWUAK! PLASTIC! SQWUAK! CHEAP ASS ZIRCONIUM, DO BETTER NEXT TIME! SUCKER!
Sure, our hermit crabs are fascinating mini-beasts, but they're no match for a cuddly or smart pet. Let's face it, crabs aren't very smart. They still think they'll be able to dig their way out of the glass aquarium. But they are very social, at least with one another. Last week I caught them sharing a Goldfish cracker that Sullivan had left in their tank. They were each at one end, holding it with their big claws and shoveling little fistfuls into their maws while gazing into eachothers' eye stalks. How romantic. Yeah, I like the crabs. But they don't get excited when I come home. Instead, they usually run and hide. Probably because I do enjoy plunking them in their little pools of water and watching them climb out. Poor little bastards.
Maybe someday I'll get to have a dog again. A little fluff ball that stares at me with stupid adoration and wants nothing more than to watch The Daily Show with me and travel in my handbag. I'd have to get a handbag first. Maybe that's how I should start. I should get a nice little handbag to love. I'll practice carrying it around and showing it the neighborhood sites. I'll take it around to the various vets and get it used to these kinds of visits. I'll give it little leather treats and rhinestone doodads to make it feel more comfortable. Then, when it has been worn and broken in- I'll throw it out and get myself a Rottweiler.
We didn't lose him, actually. He died.
To both credit and massacre George Carlin, when you purchase a dog you are, essentially, purchasing a tragedy. Either you will outlive the dog, or worse yet the dog will outlive you. Well, we outlived our dog and now I want another one.
I won't get one. The family is not ready to take in another living creature only to live in terror of it's ultimate demise. As for me, I'm prepared. That's what life with chickens and cows and sheep will teach you. Creatures die. You can focus on that or you can enjoy the strained mooing, soft bleeting, and comical clucking until you clunk them on the head and serve them up for dinner.
I don't plan on eating a dog. I just want to have a wet nose bug me in the middle of the night again. I miss that nagging feeling at 2:00 in the morning that I'm being watched only to open my eyes to see Bukka sitting in front of me waiting for me to get up and put his precious blanket back on top of him. I miss the soft, velvety head and ears and big, soulful eyes that frequently pointed toward the ceiling, exasperated with my stupidity. He just couldn't be bothered. But he did love me. He loved all of us, even though he was so much smarter, braver and more handsome than any of us could ever dream to be.
Perhaps we'll get a devoted little ankle biter next time. Or a parrot that can identify what different items are made of...SQWUAK! WOOD! SQWUAK! PLASTIC! SQWUAK! CHEAP ASS ZIRCONIUM, DO BETTER NEXT TIME! SUCKER!
Sure, our hermit crabs are fascinating mini-beasts, but they're no match for a cuddly or smart pet. Let's face it, crabs aren't very smart. They still think they'll be able to dig their way out of the glass aquarium. But they are very social, at least with one another. Last week I caught them sharing a Goldfish cracker that Sullivan had left in their tank. They were each at one end, holding it with their big claws and shoveling little fistfuls into their maws while gazing into eachothers' eye stalks. How romantic. Yeah, I like the crabs. But they don't get excited when I come home. Instead, they usually run and hide. Probably because I do enjoy plunking them in their little pools of water and watching them climb out. Poor little bastards.
Maybe someday I'll get to have a dog again. A little fluff ball that stares at me with stupid adoration and wants nothing more than to watch The Daily Show with me and travel in my handbag. I'd have to get a handbag first. Maybe that's how I should start. I should get a nice little handbag to love. I'll practice carrying it around and showing it the neighborhood sites. I'll take it around to the various vets and get it used to these kinds of visits. I'll give it little leather treats and rhinestone doodads to make it feel more comfortable. Then, when it has been worn and broken in- I'll throw it out and get myself a Rottweiler.
posted by Bree O'Connor at 1:56 AM
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