Sunday, September 23
Haven't been posting lately, for several reasons -- mostly relating to overwork, laziness, and a general lack of energy, but also having something to do with my father's dog, as I mentioned in my last post, being on his last legs. He died a few days later. Shep was smarter than most people I knew and, at thirteen, had been around for literally half my life. It hit me hard. He was my dad's dog. It hit my dad harder. There are some things you don't see your invulnerable ex-biker dad going through without it shaking up your world, and this was one of them.
So I've been quiet, and down, and let an obligation to crit someone's work and a lot of housework and all the novel-writing go to the dogs, which had the effect of making me more down, et cetera, ad infinitum, hello depressive rut. You'd think I'd catch on to the whole "reading too much, wasting too much time on the Internet, irritated by stupid friends-and-relations interrupting fantasy life, never voluntarily leaving house, tired all the time" cycle after the first umpteen times, but no. Blindsides me every damn time.
Anyhow.
I cleaned the living room. I did at least some of the dishes. I printed out those bits of the novel I had gotten rewritten. I'm getting back on track with this whole life thing, because really, detailed as my imaginative life is, it just ain't the same.
And I'm saying a bit of my goodbye to Shep. Y'all didn't know him, and I can't describe him. This is the dog that learned to recognize us spelling his favorite words. The dog we bought goldfish for to keep him amused, fish he would remind us to feed. The dog who caught butterflies and let them go, and was so gentle that they flew away afterwards. The dog who drove us all half-crazy with his Rules, which were to be Obeyed, who no one but my dad could really use to work cattle 'cause he thought the rest of us were dumb as dirt, who we all cussed and tripped over and loved, because he was people.
After the vet drove out (after hours) to put him down, the clinic sent a card 'round, signed by all the vets and vet techs who'd known him, with little things they remembered about Shep in it. When I went through that week to pick up some meds one of the techs nearly broke down talking to me. He was her favorite dog in the world, she said. Even more than her own dogs. Shep was something else. Shep was special.
To us, and to everyone who ever knew him.
Rest in peace, old man.
So I've been quiet, and down, and let an obligation to crit someone's work and a lot of housework and all the novel-writing go to the dogs, which had the effect of making me more down, et cetera, ad infinitum, hello depressive rut. You'd think I'd catch on to the whole "reading too much, wasting too much time on the Internet, irritated by stupid friends-and-relations interrupting fantasy life, never voluntarily leaving house, tired all the time" cycle after the first umpteen times, but no. Blindsides me every damn time.
Anyhow.
I cleaned the living room. I did at least some of the dishes. I printed out those bits of the novel I had gotten rewritten. I'm getting back on track with this whole life thing, because really, detailed as my imaginative life is, it just ain't the same.
And I'm saying a bit of my goodbye to Shep. Y'all didn't know him, and I can't describe him. This is the dog that learned to recognize us spelling his favorite words. The dog we bought goldfish for to keep him amused, fish he would remind us to feed. The dog who caught butterflies and let them go, and was so gentle that they flew away afterwards. The dog who drove us all half-crazy with his Rules, which were to be Obeyed, who no one but my dad could really use to work cattle 'cause he thought the rest of us were dumb as dirt, who we all cussed and tripped over and loved, because he was people.
After the vet drove out (after hours) to put him down, the clinic sent a card 'round, signed by all the vets and vet techs who'd known him, with little things they remembered about Shep in it. When I went through that week to pick up some meds one of the techs nearly broke down talking to me. He was her favorite dog in the world, she said. Even more than her own dogs. Shep was something else. Shep was special.
To us, and to everyone who ever knew him.
Rest in peace, old man.
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