Archive for July, 2008
Today is the 5th anniversary of your death. I can’t pinpoint if it feels like a long time has passed, or if it feels like it was just yesterday. I for sure can’t wrap my brain around the events of my own life in the past five years but I have a very vivid recollection of standing in the cemetery the day we buried you. I was still angry at you then, for dying.
I talk to you sometimes, I’m not sure if you hear me or not. I’m not so happy these days, friend, and I’m sure it seems inclement for me to say that I wish we could switch places. I can’t seem to get this existence right and I think you probably could. I’m sorry I can’t make that happen.
I stopped by to see your dad and brother a couple of months ago. I was visiting Sarah, Kate and Erin and I made them drive through town so we could drive by your house. Your dad and brother were in the driveway and I made Sarah turn around and go back. When we pulled in they looked very confused, obviously having no idea who it was. But when the three of us piled out of the car they looked happy to see us, and a little sad too. I’m sure seeing us makes them think of you.
Oh – Todd is still hot.
I’m really lost, Tracey, and I don’t know what to do about it. I know it doesn’t do any good to look back, and I know having regrets is useless. Still, I’m having a hard time looking forward. Having a hard time feeling like there even is a forward. I’d give just about anything to go back to the days of Betty Lou and her new pair of shoes.
Shit, we used to laugh at that. I miss those really hearty, full bellied laughs that made our eyes water. I look forward to laughing like that again.
I hope where ever you are there is laughter like that for eternity.
I miss you. I love you, friend.
Today I was picking up Greg when he suggest Drive Thru Daquairis. I pulled up in the car, rolled down the window and ordered two 20 ounce Crazy Cajuns: Tequila, Rum, and lemonade.
That’s right: like a fast food window, but exclusively for alcohol. Legally! It’s legal because they serve it to you without the straw punched through. It’s a “covered container”.
P.S. I totally drove home drinking my liquored tainted smoothie (it’s about a mile away) just for the sake of doing it.
5:56: I am almost home from work, on the main road that leads to the side street where my rented townhouse sits. I am thinking about getting in a quick arm workout before heading out at 7:45 to get to my hair appointment.
5:57: I spot a medium sized dog wandering the busy street and note that I don’t see a human anywhere nearby. I then note that this dog is not wearing a collar. I think to myself, “Yoggie!!” and immediately pull an illegal U-turn in the middle of the busy road, during rush hour. I am irrational sometimes.
5:58: I see the dog turn down a side street and I follow, pulling onto the side of the road. With the car still running I get out and look around, spotting the pup. She is a pitbull, or at least a pitbull mix, with brown fur and white socks and belly. Judging by her visibly swollen doggie pootie and hanging nipples she appears to have recently birthed a litter. She is adorable. I bend down and hold out my fist to see if she’s friendly. She runs over, kisses me, wiggling and wagging her tail. I open my car door and she jumps right in. I love her.
5:59: Another car pulls up behind me and a pretty, young blond girl gets out and says, relieved, that she saw the dog on the road and came to find her but is glad I found my dog. I explain that she is not my dog, I saw her too, and we split up to start knocking on doors.
6:02: People hate dogs. I hate them.
6:03: Only one man recognizes the dog. Hopeful, we ask who she belongs to. He replies he doesn’t know, he recognizes her because he saw her wandering the main road about ten minutes ago. I want to punch him.
6:06: Slightly defeated, the young blond and I exchange phone numbers. She explains that she has a five month old puppy who was just spayed yesterday and she will happily watch our new friend but wants to be sure she is ok with other dogs. I explain that I have two at home (who can likely hold their own), will take her there and see how they do and, if friendly, can she please take the dog while I go to my hair appointment. We agree and decide to figure the rest out later.
6:08: I enter the house and feed my wild beasts. I put some food in a bowl, grab one of Kima’s old nylon collars and a leash and head back to the car to the lost dog.
6:09: The lost dog is a picky eater. She will not eat the organic, holistic dog food that I bring to her. I guess she’s guetto. I attempt to put the collar on but she does not like this. At all. She bounds around the SUV clearly displeased by the notion of me clipping the collar around her neck.
6:10: I return from the house with a chain choker collar. After a few wiggly seconds I’m able to slip it over her head, clamp the leash to it and give it a tug to calm her down. How do you like me now, bitch?
6:11: We enter the garage and I close the garage door. Still holding the new dog on the leash I let my maniacs in. My Rotts tower this Pitbull and the three of them begin their crotch sniffing. New dog is a little timid and I watch closely for any signs of aggression. Then they all start to play.
6:13: I shoo mine inside and guide the leashed Pitt towards the door leading to the backyard. This happy, sweet girl seems fine but I’m not sure I want her running around my house just yet. I take her outside, figuring she won’t “get” the doggie door and will be confined to my small yard. I head inside to get the camera and a bowl of water for her.
6:22: Not only will she not drink the water (which is good, I suppose, as it indicates she is not starving nor dehydrated) she will not stay still long enough for me to get a decent picture. I finally get one that will have to do and head in to make a Found Dog flier.
6:26: As I’m printing 15 fliers I hear three monsters running up the stairs. Apparently new dog is smart, the doggie door is no match for her intelligence!
6:28: The three are playing and happy, clearly getting along. I run upstairs to brush my teeth before getting in the car to hang fliers and then head to my hair appointment.
6:29: On my bedroom floor is a chewed up foil pack of birth control pills, half of them gone. I have not chewed the foil pack or eaten half the pills in one sitting. Clearly Kima has been counter surfing again. Birth control pills are toxic to dogs. I decide that this can’t be happening. (But it is.)
6:36: Over the phone the polite woman from animal poison control has taken my information, understands the situation, the size and breed of the dog, the brand and dosage and number of pills eaten. Before she can give me the diagnoses she has to confirm my willingness to pay the $60 consultation fee. I give her my credit card number and wonder if Kima’s about to have a stroke. Turns out, she’s fine*.
6:45: New dog and I get in the car and start scoping the neighborhoods, stopping everyone I see to ask if they recognize her and taping fliers all over a 3 mile radius. I wonder about my sanity as I plaster my phone number all over telephone polls.
7:33: With no leads and out of fliers I call the young blond and ask if I can bring the pup over. I almost get teary when the girl takes the leash and walks off with my new little girl.
8:02: Because all the animal shelters are closed I am directed to non-emergency police. The man on the phone tells me they can send animal control to get the dog. I laugh at him. He then tells me I can go to the shelter, there will be cleaning people there who will take the dog inside. I tell him I’ve decided to keep her and thank him for his “help”.
8:08: Young blond and I decide we will notify the shelter of the found dog in the morning, but will not leave her at the shelter unless they are no-kill and commit to calling us if the owner does not claim her in the mandated time. I consider the implications of owning two dogs and decide not to stress (HAHAHAHA) about it until tomorrow.
9:15: I tell my hair stylist that she is GIVING ME A HEART ATTACK STOP CUTTING. She assures me she is just shaping. I weep for the long strands of hair on the floor and wonder whose idea it was to cut “long bangish pieces” (hint: mine.)
9:37: Back in my car, on the phone, the young blond tells me her boyfriend has fallen in love with the dog and they will take her overnight (they have an extra crate, I don’t crate my dogs), if that’s ok with me. I tell her that it is, of course, and we agree to touch base in the morning.
10:00: Kima and I get into bed. She puts her head on my chest and I rub her head. I hug and kiss her and promise I will never lose her.
10:03: I know she is safe, in good hands, but I miss the new pup.
*Luckily Kima is large enough that, based on the number of pills and dosage that she ate she was way below toxic levels, however, birth control pills are VERY POISONOUS to dogs. If your dog eats ANY of your birth control contact animal poison control immediately to determine your dog’s risk.
POST SCRIPT: A sweet, distraught, 60 year old woman called me this morning saying she thinks I have her dog. She described the pup, Cally, perfectly and I am confident she is the owner. She was up crying all night until her son in law came in at 2 in the morning with one of my fliers. She resisted calling me right then, in the middle of the night but we’ve made arrangements for her to pick up Cally later today. I also suggested she keep a collar on her dog even when “she was just in the backyard” and that she also probably needs some chicken wire because, it seems, there are cracks under the fence that Cally can squirm under. I’m glad she’s going home, though.