I wish I had helpful people in my life. My dog is about to die. We have had her for so long it is as if she is family.
I remember when we got her. It was early fall. The first Bush was still in office. Glory days. Dad drove the Honda hatchback further and further down the dirt road, the farm loomed closer and closer. The woman met us out front, she was wholesome and modest, a farm woman. She showed us the dogs, I got on my hands and knees, they treated me like their own. We found ours. She told us her brother fell down the stairs earlier in the week. He died, 12 weeks.
The car ride home was different, the same day but it was brighter. Gale and I called out names, suggestions like 'Sara', and 'Glinda', all the way home. We setteled on a name, it was a weird name, it was her name.
She is 17 years old, that is over 115 in human years. She hated minorities and other kids. She shit everywhere. She still shits, and if she knows your there she probably hates you. But most of the time her blindness, deafness, and inability to use her hind legs that long really inhibits what made her herself.
We get used to it.
I came home for a few days. I brought Jennie with me, we didn't fuck once the entire time we were home. I knew things were getting bad with our dog. She threw up 10 times in the 76 hours we were there. When I left today how I may never see her. I actually cried. I cant cry at my grandmothers funeral, but I can cry over a dog.
I will miss her when she is gone.