This shit is dreadfully godawful. Not
dogawful which would be the most delightful way for me to describe something
that is godawful. No, unfortunately dying is dreadfully godawful.
Mom and Dad are about to take me to the vet’s
office and I can just tell that something is up. They are acting very
suspicious for a routine car ride and after that last visit, Mom lost it on the
way home. She turned around to talk to me and after a quick look into my sweet,
puppy eyes, the waterworks began. Mom started bawling then Dad started bawling
then pretty soon I started bawling too (you know how dogs whimper except it’s
usually because they are hungry but I’m a wee more advanced than the average
mutt). Any car that drove by and saw all of us lost in our emotions probably
thought we were on our way home from the insane asylum. She can normally keep a
straight face; she has defeated me and my buddies from the neighborhood in
Texas Hold’em several times.
How messed up is it to know when your last
day on the planet will be? The pain is almost unbearable, though. It is
bittersweet but my final trip to the vet will undoubtedly offer me some much
needed rest, for good that is. Yeah, life sure is a fickle fiend. One minute
you’re sniffing another dog’s butt; the next the universe is sniffing yours.
Dying is a bitch and I’m not referring to
myself when I describe it as such. I would recommend not thinking about it too
much. I did that pretty well for the first few years of my life until something
inside me just clicked. You might say I was a born-again pup. Whoever said you
can’t teach old dogs new tricks never met me. Whoever said you can’t teach old
dogs new tricks didn’t have a sense of imagination. Whoever said you can’t
teach old dogs new tricks can go fall asleep in a well as far as I am
concerned. I wouldn’t even rescue their sorry butt, soaked by the humidity of
that hole in the ground with an ego dampened by despair.
I used to love long walks on the beach,
wow did I love those walks. Those were some of the best times of my life out
there chasing waves in the sand without a care in the world. I could probably
set up camp and live out there on the beach. I would just set up a little pup
tent of course; why would I use any other kind of tent? That would be absurd.
Going to the beach was my favorite activity and the only thing I ever wanted to
do other than eat, sleep and sniff other dogs’ butts.
Nowadays all I can muster the energy to do
is lose control of my bladder in the house every once in a while and feel
really bad about it. If dogs could write, I would go to Hallmark and pick up a
few thank you cards to scrawl on for Mom and Dad to recognize their help. I’ve
been going inside and outside of the house nonstop for the past few months.
Sometimes I wish we had a doggie door. Others, I am thankful that we don’t have
one so I don’t wake up to a cat burglar halfway into the house but thankfully
too thick of a milkshake to squeeze through the opening. It totally makes sense
that they call them cat burglars by the by; no one has ever blamed a dog for
stealing someone’s lawn mower. Cats steal things all the time though. They
steal mice from their homes, naps out of thin air and your will to live over a
slow grinding period that never ends, even when they have passed on and are
just a mere memory or as I like to say, a meremory.
One time when we were at the beach Dad
entered a sandcastle building competition. There were real judges and a
decently sized crowd to watch a bunch of clowns try to create a Travel Channel
show on the fly. How is there not a reality TV show with actual clowns
competing against each other in an intense sandcastle building competition? The
judges could be those bears that ride the unicycles from the circus. The only
problem is that bears don’t have a ton of knowledge about the art of crafting
sandcastles. Also, they would probably maul the contestants and everyone on the
beach so there’s that too. Other than those two minor details, unicycle bears
would be by far the best reality TV judges since Simon Cowell in his peak axe
dropping days.
Anyway, Dad was in the sandcastle building
competition and he was doing an amazing job at building a sandcastle, nay
sculpting a piece of art that belongs in a beach themed Smithsonian. Then, completely
out of the blue, a random dude in polka dotted tie dye board shorts stealthily
ran over and dove into Dad’s amazing sandcastle like he was leaping for a
touchdown catch in the last second of the Super Bowl. Then the random dude in
polka dotted tie dye board shorts turned around and began laughing maniacally,
like a real Joker, I’m talking about Heath Ledger heights. His buddy, who was
wearing a maroon bejeweled turtleneck on the beach (that should have been the
first tip off for the lifeguards to come over and have a word with these
gentlemen) stood up like he was about to soil his pants, grabbed a brief case
(another tip off for the lifeguards), stepped in some lady’s seven layer chip
dip (without even apologizing or even feigning sympathy) and ran off with the
dude in polka dotted tie dye board shorts. A few seconds after these two
unknown disruptors of friendly beach competitions had escaped, everyone laughed
for at least a commercial break, Super Bowl length of course.
Listen to my movie and storytelling podcast A Star Is Born
Instagram: @ChrisArneson8
Pick up my books Sponge Cake & What's In The Fridge?
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