Dying sure is a bitch, ain’t it? Where’s
my last meal? I want a T-bone steak with a side of cheeseburgers and a
skyscraper of garlic fries and not one of those puny Midwest skyscrapers, I’m
talking about some East coast behemoths that King Kong would mess around with.
What kind of terrible human being would
put down dogs for a living? It sounds a lot like a crime to me. You’re telling
me that these people are just going to put me down without even so much as
asking me first? Don’t you think my preference in the whole situation should
bear a little more weight? I don’t seem to remember being asked what my
preference would be in the whole shindig; how do they know that I don’t want to
bear witness to another sunrise, my favorite part of the day? The sunrise is my
favorite time of day because it is my special time that I go for a walk with
Mom every single morning. I also love the sunrise because it is a metaphor for
life, people and dogs; it is an illustration of all the potential, all the things
that we can and will accomplish. The sunrise lets you know that everything is
A-OK. All you really have to worry about is making it to the next sunrise and
the rest will take care of itself, I promise. You can trust me; I’m a dog and
we are known to be extremely honest, sometimes to a fault.
How is it licit to put me down without me
having a voice to speak up with? I tried barking a few times to let Mom and Dad
know that something was awry (just saying that makes me hungry for a sandwich;
maybe that’s what I would do with my last meal.) and I didn’t like the
direction we were going with this vet thing. Unfortunately in my old age I
couldn’t quite muster the intestinal fortitude to emit the barking sound that
everyone loves to wake up to in the morning when the newspaper arrives.
A bark is a funny thing. On one hand,
everyone loves a dog’s bark, especially if it is their own dog. It reminds you
of home. It’s warm. It lets you know that they are protecting the house. Dogs
have humans’ backs, you know, like more than anything. I’ll give you an example
of that a little later in the book. I don’t want to spoil anything right now
but let’s just say that someone got what was coming to them and I was the
person who served up a dish of shame with a confusion ice cream milkshake.
Life is too fun to take that last trip to
the vet, I would rather wait it out and squeeze every last tiny bit of
toothpaste out of the tube of Crest (Colgate is the Deflategate of toothpastes
in that it was a very disappointing investigation that didn’t really turn out
anything substantial or any interesting fallout other than a four game suspension
for Tom Brady, the first four games of the season I have to add. If you really
wanted to punish Tom Brady, you would take away all the mirrors in his house
and donate them to foster homes because Tom Brady hates poor people almost as
much as he loves admiring the reflection of his quintessential life. Tom Brady
doesn’t like anyone who can’t afford a shoe tree of Uggs. I’m more of a Michael
Vick fan, I know crazy, right? Get over it, we’ve all made a few mistakes, who
doesn’t have a few dog skeletons in their closet, am I right? Forget about it
ya PETA pushers, you’re the next Blackfish, playa. But my man has unparalleled
quickness, blazing sideline to sideline downfield speed and he’s a frickin’
legend. Dude is a legend. *wipes away single tear*)
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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