Something interesting happened last week. Someone I don’t know, said I touched them. In most situations, that is not good.
The post about my dog Mya I wrote over many weeks. It was a long time working through the emotional landscape of it, but the result does not reflect that. I went from zero to dead dog in a few paragraphs. I like to get to the point. Sorry about that. I did try balance it with a story that involved inappropriate nurse fantasies, medical torture devises, and me with no pants on.
I wrote about Mya for selfish reasons. It was cathartic. I thought a few people I know would be interested in the news, but thousands and thousands of people read about Mya, more than have ever come here before. Some people, most of whom I have no other connection to, were touched, and went out of their way to share personal stories, email good wishes, and generally to say lovely things. That is unexpected, and it moved me.
Anyone who has loved a pet understands the grief that comes with their death. It is something many people can relate to. Your stories, love, and support are well received and appreciated. Thank you friends, family, and anonymous internet readers.
I am not usually so somber. I have a few funny stories about Mya, Max, and Cash. You can read them here.
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I’ve got one …. a long time ago, I had tried to pick up my motorcylce in storage in your backyard while you were out. Max and Mya did not recognize me after a few years away and would not let me enter the yard. I was a little spooked that they got so riled up at the time. Needless to say, the bike stayed put that day.
Not too long after that, you had asked me to take care of the dogs while you were out of town. Being a dog person, I said “no worries; I’m on it”. I had completely forgotton the previous incident before responding. But, tough luck for me, I said yes and wasn’t going to bail.
The first night you were gone, my young daughter asked what I was doing while getting ready to go out. It was odd to her that I was gathering all this “body armour” to go take care of Dirk’s dogs. I explained to her the previous bike incident but that a promise was a promise; I was responsible for taking care of Max and Mya; I just needed to protect myself. As I left wearing my thick winter parka (it was not cold), steel toed boots (I was not working), triple layered leather gloves (again, it was not cold), two pairs of pants, a full face helmet and holding a big bag of luncheon meat, she said “good luck daddy, we love you!” … ‘good!’ I thought, ‘that will go well on my epitaph’.
As I pulled up to your house, there was little lighting. I knew they could hear the vehicle pull up. I also knew they would be acutely following my every move as I exited the vehicle and made my way to the door. I was honestly scared. Curiously, it never dawned on me what your neighbours would think of an overdressed motorcyclist exiting a truck and strolling up to your darkened front door.
I slowly climbed the 3 or 4 stairs of your front porch, put my key in the door and unlocked it. While doing so, I could hear the sound of multiple, heavy, sharp paws scampering down the hardwood hallway to attend to whomever was at the front door. At the time, I’m thinking “he better have beer in the fridge; this sucks!” I opened the door a couple inches, and thrust my sheathed right hand in with a fist full of bologna. It was gobbled up in milliseconds. I grabbed another fist full of sandwhich meat, opened the door further while calling out “good boy Max, good girl Mya!” and entered the house. I was covered in dog kisses and slobber (thank god!). The evening went well after that. I fed the dogs, drank all your beer, watched some movies with Max and Mya beside me and peed in your toilet without flushing.
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