Mutts: Shelter Stories

 Mutts: Shelter Stories By Patrick McDonnell

2008

Weight: 1.2 lbs

Method of Disposal: Donating

I remember lining the dog's cages at the shelter with newspaper and unfolding the comics to see a Patrick McDonnell strip many mornings.  This one reminded me of one of my favorite dogs of all time, Tenchi, who had to wait years to find her home, but when she did, it was the best home.  She has since passed away, and they have adopted again.  I posted this one on her cage while she was at the shelter because no one would look at her since she barked so much in her cage, and they thought she was unfriendly.  She was absolutely the sweetest girl and was so quiet when she got out and, later, when she was in a home.  It can be hard to know what behaviors from the kennels will stick and which ones will go away with time, exercise, training, love, patience.  I just knew that once she was out of the kennels she would be great though.  I needed to get someone else to see it.

In the end, it was someone doing community service who was around long enough to get to know her, and he took the chance on her. And, I love him for it.

Another memory I have is from 14 years ago.  I walked into the vet clinic, and saw a beautiful brown pit bull, scared and despondent in her cage.  There was blue painter's tape above the bars with the name "Hershey" written in sharpie.  She was the color of chocolate, of course.  I thought to myself, "that is my 3rd dog", and then I quickly shook my head and inwardly rolled my eyes--absolutely not.  I did not want another dog with my boy Phoenix being so old and already having a rocky transition with Sergei (Serg/Sir Gay/Nader/Nader Nader Alligator/Sergio/Asshole/The Jackass/The Criminal/Sergei Ivanovich McKelvey/My Soulmate), coming into the home.  I had been at the shelter maybe 7-8 months, and I was still learning so much.  I had no idea what I was doing.  I still am learning now, after all these years in rescue.  I guess that never stops.  But, I had never seen a dog like "Hershey" before.  I cannot tell you now exactly why I found her so striking.  Maybe it was because my metaphorical heart knew, and the rest of me did not.

I remember sitting on the steps in intake with someone from the old leadership team.  They told me that she was abandoned, tied to the gate on the coldest day in December, but that we could not keep her at PAWS.  They had tucked her away in the clinic while they tried to think of an alternative.  It was a different time then.  She told me that they would rather euthanize her than send her to animal control, where she would surely be euthanized, but she would be so much more fearful as she left.  Now days, we love and support our animal control, and we do not see a dog going there as being worse than death.  So much has changed, not only with animal controls all over the country, but with us, at the smaller, non-government funded facilities.  And thank goodness.

I was told that I would get five years of heartworm preventative, and that she would be spayed and vaccinated at no cost if I would just take her as an individual and foster her until another placement could be found.  They would help me.  I did it because I could not stand to think of that beautiful creature dying for what?  Because she was a pit bull?  She was spayed, and they discovered she had 9 puppies.  And then, I took her home.  My then girlfriend, Vallan, tried to name her "Le Chien Nikita" and we compromised on "Madeleine" (Lion/LyLy/Mattie-Lion). My dear friend, Tracy, told me her ears were something special, like satellites and, when I wanted to know how she was feeling, I needed to only pay attention to those ears.  She has not been wrong.

I had not introduced Madeleine to either of my dogs, and I was winging the whole thing all the way.  By some miracle, she always did well with Phoenix, thank goodness.  He was an old man and had no interest in other dogs, and he deserved peace.  She mostly did well with Sergei,  but Sergei and her were hot and cold, and the cold would present itself in these rare but scary, shocking, and sudden dog fights that would cause me to scream and panic, while frantically pulling them apart.  No one was ever seriously injured, and I know now that is because of them and not just me.  I have many dogs with dog aggression who are a lot more determined and serious about it, and they have been wonderful dogs, but there is no way they will be making any canine friends.

My girlfriend at the time once through beer all of us to break the two of them up.  It did not work, but we were all wet, and I was trembling and worried about what we would do next.  I could not bear it if she hurt Sergei.  I was really uninformed at the time.  I learned over the years that Lion was dog intolerant and would be aggressive to other dogs that jumped on her or tried to play.  Sergei was a resource guarder with food and toys.  Lion was a resource guarder only with other dogs with food and sometimes water.  They both were wary of strangers, but Sergei would actually bite you if you took something away from him or got under the bed (his self claimed space) to grab something, but Lion would not.  I learned to always keep them in separate rooms when I was not there to supervise and to never give them treats or food together.  I learned how to communicate with them better.  Inadvertently, they learned that I would lose my mind if they fought, and they did ultimately stop.  They also learned each other.  If Lion approached the water bowl, Sergei would walk away and come back when she was done.  If Sergei had a tennis ball, she would not try to take it but, if she had a plush toy, he would not try to take it from her.  They worked out this whole system, and they compromised on so much.

This is not how it goes for all dogs, and I do not recommend forcing a dog aggressive dog to get along with other dogs.  It can be dangerous and heart wrenching. But, I do recommend taking a chance on loving a dog that doesn’t love other dogs or doesn’t exhibit the behavior you are use to (but can be kept safely in the community). It is 100% worth it. They need you more then any other dog at the shelter, and many of them will love you fiercely. They will absolutely teach you a lot, and you will love them fiercely too. 

Madeleine was just tolerant enough, and both of their triggers were really easy to work out, with some time. Sergei is the only dog I think Lion has ever truly loved, though she tolerated a handful of others within reason, because her moms work in rescue. I catch her spooning with him now, and I did even before her mind started to go. Now, he makes her feel safe. She lays close to him so she won't fall off the bed with her poor mind, bad vision, and hearing, it is an absolute necessity for her at night when we all go to bed.

She is scared of going outside at night, and she will not go to the bathroom without Sergei there. He is very tolerant of her needs and does not even growl (though he will groan) when she stumbles all over him and steps on his face. I never would have believed it circa 2008-2015. They have not fought in ages, and I do not expect they ever will again, though I am always sure to separate them when I am not there and do all the things I have always done to ensure they get along and are happy. I suspect they would be fine, maybe even better than fine. They have really worked out their differences, but Harriet and I agree. It is not worth the risk. They done so well all this time.

Unfortunately, before Vallan and I knew that Lion did not like dogs, she took her to a friends house to play with their smedium dog, Lucy.  Lion, apparently, hopped like a bunny, grabbed the dog in her mouth, and started shaking her.  Vallan got in the middle of it and was determined to break them up and save our friend's dog.  Not surprisingly (she was a determined and passionate person), she was able to break them up, but she got bit in the process.  Lucy was totally fine, but Vallan had to go to the doctor.  

All the support I had been offered went away.  I was told to euthanize her.  There were too many friendly pit bulls dying to hold onto an aggressive one.  The vet I assisted in spay/neuter surgeries was angry with me for not listening to reason.  The trainer was more gentle and offered alternatives but, ultimately, agreed that euthanasia might be the best option.  And the thing is, neither of them were wrong really.  In some situations, there are dogs that are truly unsafe to adopt out, but they weren't right about my Lion. I just knew it was dog aggression and that she had redirected on Vallan but was not dangerous.  Vallan agreed.  

We kept her and began looking for a home for her.  We made flyers, contacted the pit bull group that everyone vouched for (but was later shut down after a Fox 5 Investigation).  We posted her on social media and told people in the line at the coffee shop about her.  There was no one looking for a dog aggressive pit bull with a bite history.  I was so frustrated.  I did not want to keep her.  I remember saying that, "she was the only dog I ever met that I did not like."  I was resisting her, but it was all so ridiculous, because Lion was and became the best dog.  She was well behaved, protective, loving, playful, loyal.  So, we gave up looking for a home.

I love everything about Madeline. I loved her then, all the years in between, and I love her now, more than I could possibly describe here. She is 15 years old and has developed cognitive dysfunction and has serious mobility issues from muscle wasting. I wish so much that Harriet and I could soothe her mind and strengthen her legs. When I most felt alone, and I was at my breaking points, I always had Lion and Sergei to soothe and strengthen me. Phoenix had passed away of a heart attack some time after Vallan moved out and, in time, the three of us became a true pack and a family. I stayed and fought for my life because I could not imagine letting them down. No one had wanted either of them. Who would possibly take care of them if I did not?

The deal was that if Vallan and I ever broke up, she would take Lion, and I would take Sergei and Phoenix. Phoenix (P-Beast/Feanie/Beast) was my childhood dog after all, but the way life worked out, she would only have been able to take Phoenix, and I would never let him go.

I am so glad.

I’m so glad I fell for it and took Madeleine home, though I don’t recommend getting people to rescue that way. I’m so glad no one else adopted her when they had the chance. I’m so glad we could see past her dog aggression and know that she was not human aggressive, though maybe wary of strangers. And, I am so glad I ended up with custody of all three dogs, though, at the time, I felt overwhelmed. Vallan sent "dog support" and always loved them. It is funny to me now to think about how worried I was, after all the dogs Harriet and I have fostered, rescued, worked with, and even adopted. Three dogs? We have five now, and they are not "normal" dogs!

Lion met Harriet maybe four years after Lion met me, and they’ve loved each other ever since. I can forgive Lion for considering Harry to be her favorite, as she has been my favorite human too. So, I understand.

Madeleine has been the best girl, and almost everyone who has met our pack has considered her the favorite because she is so sweet, loyal, and playful, but also, she is the best behaved pup in the pack.

I’ve never had a dog love me like Lion has. Until her cognitive dysfunction took over, she would do anything to protect me. Unless Harriet was around, and she had to choose. Then, she would choose Harriet, and that was perfect because I am protective of both of them. It is hard watching her age and change, but I am so grateful for the opportunity.

Now, we have been battling with the knowledge that she will need to be euthanized before this gets worse, but it is hard to admit that, after all the medications, food, the expensive Impact crate , all the love and attention and thoughtfulness. She never had to be crated before, but she started hurting herself when we left. My dad began to call her "The Termite" (He is responsible for "The Criminal" too), as she was eating our new house from the inside out. This was not a trajectory we expected. Over the last year, she has begun having accidents in the house 2-3 times a day after being a housebroken dog all her life. She will chew on the window frames and base boards if we let her free roam when we leave. She is our sweet girl, and we know she cannot help it. We just take her out often and try to make her feel safe. But, it is hard to see her like that and know she is scared too.

She panics and hurts herself when we leave so we have her on anti-anxiety medications that might take the edge off, and the crate does help a little. Maybe. We play calming music and sometimes use diffusers with lavender oil. She has been restless at night and now she is restless anytime she is not in her bedroom. Her legs sometimes spasm, and she gets up with a start and takes off, but she can't "take off" anymore so she will fall and then panic and not be able to get up without help. It is shattering our hearts to watch her, but we've been able to find ways to bring her happiness even as she forgets everything and we have mom ears for when she is struggling, even when we got COVID and a fever and thought we could only sleep. If she was struggling, we were up and lifting her and telling her to slow her roll. It was okay. She is no longer wary of strangers and loves them. She no longer knows the words/commands she once knew. Her whole life revolves around eating and when she can get her next treat. She has become fixated on food. She gets confused sometimes when trying to figure out doorways or turns. She will completely fall, splayed out, if she is even accidentally nudged by Sergei or one of us.

We said we wanted to say goodbye to her before she did not recognize us anymore. We did not want her to feel like she was with strangers when the time came, but there are times where she clearly does not know us now. Most of the time, I believe she does know she loves us and feels safe with us, but when she doesn't, you can see her get scared and confused. She almost "snaps out of it" when the recognition finally comes--usually from your smell, or your voice, or something she is used to hearing you say even if she does not know what it means. She has no muscle and falls over her own feet, Benebones on the floor, the weight scale, a piece of fluff, pretty much anything. And, if she falls, she cannot often get up. We cannot leave her alone because it is torture for her.

And yet, I cannot imagine living in a world that does not include her. At this point, that does not revolve around her. I know that we have to, and that it is not fair to her to make her suffer now that she is truly suffering more than she is not. We are supposed to say goodbye to her Tuesday, at home, but I keep telling myself and Harriet that we can cancel it, but I know we cannot and Harriet knows we cannot.

I worry about Sergei. He is also fifteen and is wonky after a bout of vestibular. How will he handle losing Lion? I've always said he was a sociopath, so he might be okay, but I do suspect that they love each other deeply after all these years. I thought as they aged, their relationship and Sergei's attitude would get worse but, like I have been so many times, I was wrong.

Tonight, when I was pulling up her breakfast for tomorrow, and adding all her "powders and potions," I realized that, once she is gone, I will miss the whole process of feeding her because, even though there are calming probiotics, fish oils, Clonidine, Prozac, Galliprant, Dasequin, Gabapentin, and it is changing all the time with new medications are coming and old ones are leaving. While I am pulling up all these things, I know she is still alive. And, when I am not, I know that she is gone and that we might have bought time, but there are no miracles other than that we all found each other eventually. I know that there is no amount of money or effort that can turn this around or change a forever goodbye. It is unbearable. Harriet and I use to agree not to cry in front of her when this all started. We did not want our sadness to increase her anxiety, but now she does not even notice tears or tissues or whimpers or cries. She is always seemingly trying to figure out who and where she is and what she is suppose to be doing.

One of the kindest things we will ever do for our dogs is to let them go. And while it can be scary, because you do not want to take away any bit of happiness or hope from them, and you cannot ask them what they want, you know there really is no other option. It goes against every desire in my body to imagine laying in bed without feeling her body in between mine and Harriet's. She sleeps there now, with Sergei at the foot of the bed to feel secure. I need to see her senior lady tongue, hanging out of her mouth while she snores. On what planet will I be that now she cannot spoon me or Harriet when we are not spooning her. When I was single and living alone, she would always through her paw over me and hold me like a human, and it was oddly comforting. I can see her at 2 years old, leaping, and running, and chasing her teaser toy--a toy on the end of a rope on the end of the stick. I can see her at 4, when we used to go hiking every weekend. One time, we almost went over a waterfall, but I grabbed her by the harness with super human strength and pulled her out of the water just in time to get her back onto sturdy ground and then scramble up after her. Was she six at the horse farm, when Sergei went missing, and my world was falling apart, and I could not function, but she was right there, concerned, and ready to comfort Harriet and I. We took her on walks all over, hoping her female marking would give Sergei a path to follow home, and maybe it did. Who knows? But, he came back, and it was the happiest day of my life. She loved Kong Wubbas and then she loved those weird, round Bark Box toys--the Olympian in particular. We ordered her another after her first one was destroyed. She loved the toys that had smaller toys inside of them she had to pull out. She loved Harriet's mom, and her gifts from England. She loved everything about us, and we continue to love everything about her.

There are so many stories, so many beautiful and happy moments. There are thousands of pictures and videos, but there will never again be another Lion. I am grateful I got to spend her life with her but, right now, I am just scared and heartbroken and dreading Tuesday, but feeling like it might also be too long for her to wait, and hoping she will rally, as dogs do, right before the end.

The Untethered Soul: The Journey Beyond Yourself

The Untethered Soul: The Journey Beyond Yourself  by Michael A. Singer
2007
Weight: 12 oz
Method of Disposal: Selling

I probably need this book now more than ever, but I really struggle to get into books like these.  I tried it a couple times, and I read most of it.  I see it is a bestseller, and I am happy to think of it helping so many people, including the wonderful woman who gave it to me.  My dear friend, Linda, who has moved up north and who I am not sure if I will see again. 

She used to come to my work with boxes of gifts and photos of things she had enjoyed during her lifetime.  She always had stories and to this day we will sometimes stay on the phone for hours, though I think we are less and less able to do that lately.  We still have late night texts and a shared love of dogs to keep our relationship strong.

I hope this book brings the next reader whatever it is that they are looking for.

Howl

Howl: A Collection of the Best Contemporary Dog Wit  Editors of BARk
2007
Weight: 1.2 lbs
Method of Disposal: Donating

I guess I have become a crazy animal woman, despite myself.  As a child, I was obsessed.  I watched every nature documentary I could find, read every book about critters my parents gave me, "adopted" as many as I could with my meager earnings from doing chores(you pay a fee and the wildlife group sends you a picture and certificate of adoption), drew/colored/hung up signs around the neighborhood encouraging people to save endangered animals.  High School/College I had what some might call a healthy appreciation of animals.  I loved them, but I did not fawn all over them or really think about them all that much.  I scoffed at "dog people" and "cat people" were beyond the realm of believability.  I say that, but I did become a vegetarian to cause as little harm to other living creatures as possible while in college.  BUT I had read an article linking animal oppression to SEX OPPRESSION!  And I loved women... I did not dream I would dedicate so much of my life to them in the years after college.  I, for sure, never thought I would dress a dog up, much less pay for the outfit. 

I would have told you that no, I would never drive to Knoxville, TN just to get two gerbils from an animal control facility.  I probably wouldn't have even said that.  I would have just looked at you warily and walked away.  As it is, my buddy, Skye, and I drove to Knoxville to get Papi and Prim in July of 2013.  She is a good friend.  I called her that morning, and she agreed to come even though she had to be at work that night, hadn't slept yet, and thought I said we were going to Kentucky for Guinea Pigs.  She is a good friend or someone with no self-preservation instinct.  I am not sure which.  We rode along, and I rambled on about anything and everything, listening to ridiculous music and pointing out fun places I wish we could stop along the way--like a billboard that proclaimed something along the lines of "Cows, Cheese, Wow!"  My dear friend had just moved back overseas, and I was a bit of a mess.  Fluctuating between being incredibly happy/excited by the trip to nervous/anxious/sad about potentially losing a friend.  I knew I was missing her when I would turn on the billboard hits she had always liked, and I had always hated.  I forced Skye to listen to them, smiling deviously and blushing.  I had never even let Harriet listen to them in my car during the year she was here and now I was making Skye suffer them even as she was doing me a good deed.  Sucks to be my friend, I guess!

When we got to the facility, no one knew where the gerbils had gone to.  They said if we could not find them then they were probably adopted.  This was alarming.  I had been e-mailing with a nice woman about holding them since we would be making quite the drive.  Not to mention, it was discomforting that no one could confirm or deny that they were adopted.  We finally found them on the floor, up against a wall, with a sign stating that gerbils learned about the world with their teeth.  Do not be alarmed if they bite you!  The cage I had waiting in the car was a huge improvement over their current digs, and I was feeling really good about taking them home.  I filled out the application, paid the adoption fee, and we turned around and headed back home with them seat belted in the back. 

We were told they were two boys, Ishmael and Queequeg.  I loved the names and was tempted to keep them.  Sherlock and Watson would be pretty cute too though...

My other dear friend, Tracy, had drawn them a welcome home card and brought treats.  I showed them off, and they started humping like fiends.  I was sure babies would soon follow, and I might have panicked.  They weren't boys after all!  As it turns out, they were both girls, and I joked about how I had adopted lesbian gerbils.  Holler.  I let Harriet name them.  She decided on the names of her childhood rabbits, Poppy and Primrose, also important flowers in England.  Over time, I molded them to fit me better and to fit the personalities of the two little rodents.  Papi is the dark-haired one and Prim was the blonde.

They were incredibly messy and destructive, frequently making me laugh, though also making me vow I would never get another gerbil again.  I would stick to hamsters in the future.  They seemed much cleaner.  The other day I went to feed the babies and found Prim dead, outside of her hut.  I buried her and moved Papi to a new, clean cage.  Papi has taken to sleeping on top of the hut when she sleeps and staying up throughout the day when she should be asleep.  I wonder what is going through her little mind.  I did not expect to lose Prim so quickly, and I hope Papi perseveres for much longer.

All of this is to say, rest in peace Queequeg/Watson/Primrose/Prim.  Thank you for spending your life with me.  I hope you had a happy one.


 

The Butter Battle Book

The Butter Battle Book by Dr Suess
1984
Weight: 12.4 oz
Method of Disposal: Gave to Lucas, Sarah's baby

This is one of my favorite Dr Suess books, though any close friend of mine knows that I am absolutely smitten with the Sneetches.  My dear friend Sarah and I use to work at a bookstore together and sometimes, when things were slow, we would read each other children's books.  She would make up her own words to Curious George, and it would crack me up.  She talked to me about all the political implications of Dr Suess, which encouraged my lifelong fascination with the man, the literature, and the cartoons.

We were talking about Lucas' book collection and how it was missing some of the essentials, and she mentioned The Butter Battle Book.  I would have had trouble letting this one go, but knowing it was going to Little Lucas was perfect.  I will never have kids of my own to pass these books and thoughts onto, but I now have a lot of kids in my life who can benefit.

By now, you have probably read The Butter Battle Book but, if you haven't or if it has been awhile, go check it out at the library or go to a bookstore.  The lesson of the book and the history is so obvious, and it is scary, but it is also wonderful.  It is a great way to teach kids about peace.

The Story of Growl

The Story of Growl  by Judy Horacek

2008

Weight: ½ lb

Method of Disposal: Left in a parking lot in East Atlanta, along with an empty journal

My father has reminded me over the years about a time we went to Florida together as a family.  My brother was social and made new friends on the day we arrived.  He always did it really.  It did not matter what time we got in or where we went.  My brother always surrounded himself with new people right away.  At that time, I did not have a lot of friends.  At home, it wasn’t for a lack of trying.  I was always socially awkward.  At the beach, though, it was because I did not see the point.  One day, he asked me why I did not talk to any of the kids my own age.  I immediately responded with something along the lines of “Why would I want to get attached to any of them if I will never see them again?”  I spared myself the heartache.  That is how I have always been.  I do not want to develop friendships that are not meaningful and long-lasting.  It is really an unfortunate disposition, and it does not spare you from hurt.  It probably just makes it worse.  

I expect to grow “older and wiser,” but I am surprised to find that I never completely ousted the child.  I am still her.  Why make the investment if the return is not worth it?  The pain of loneliness is nothing compared to the pain of loss.  Loneliness even has perks.  Lots of them, really.  Maybe I missed some key life lessons or chose not to listen to them.

I am getting rid of The Story of Growl, which I enjoyed a lot when it was given to me, in recognition of the missed lessons.  It is an adorable children’s book about a monster that loves to growl but is no longer allowed to.  Eventually, she has to growl at an intruder and the people realize the value of growling and so she is allowed to revel in her passion.

The Idiot Girls' Action Adventure Club

The Idiot Girls’ Action-Adventure Club: True Tales from a Magnificent and Clumsy Life  by Laurie Notaro

2002

Weight:  6.4 oz

Method of Disposal: Donating

A phenomenal person was born on this day years ago.  We celebrated and not in the style of Laurie Notaro, whose stories are more likely to resemble random moments in my life than in Tracy’s (the phenomaenal person).  Regardless of that disparity, I decided to get rid of this book today in the interest of parties, partying, and the overall good times.

I met T four years ago, and I have been amazed ever since then.  There are few people who understand me better than her and there are even fewer people that I could spend so much time with and still enjoy life.  She encourages, inspires, and teaches me.  She is hilarious, redunkulous, and essential.  This is my shout out.  Happy Birthday, Tracy!  Love you!

As for Notaro, if you are interested in reading about drunken adventures and the times when life goes awry—the things most people do not admit—you may be interested in reading this book.  Let me know.  You have until this upcoming Friday to claim this book as your own.  Otherwise, it is off to the donation bin.

Dear Sarah

Dear Exile: The True Story of Two Friends Seperated (for a Year) by an Ocean
By Hilary Liftin and Kate Montgomery
1999
Weight: 8 oz
Method of Disposal: Leaving somewhere, unless you want it



Dear Exile is another book from my Waldenbook days, and thus the first year or two of my friendship with Sarah G-A, whom I still love. We both purchased Dear Exile and read it. We thought we might end up writing each other important letters one day about feminism, books, and friendship. I would have been 16, maybe 17, at the time.

The book is, amazingly, still in impeccable condition and, much to my disappointment, it has no smell. Books usually have some fragrance. They smell old or new or, in the case of a particular children’s book we carried at Barnes and Nobel before it was recalled, like gasoline. It is one of the most wonderful things about an actual book.

They sell library and book perfume now so I guess it will be alright. I can spray Dear Exile with a Demeter fragrance before passing it on. I mean, if I am feeling dedicated. This book really might be in the exact same condition it was in when I bought it. How did that happen?

Before you think it, I did read it. I thought it was enjoyable but not life-changing. It was sweet and, like I said, it inspired a brief dream about letter writing way back when. One woman is in the Peace Corps and one woman is dating and living in her first real apartment. They obviously care about each other, and they write each other letters that make up this book. I guess I am sort of ambivalent about it.

I am not, however, ambivalent about how much fun it was to get to know Sarah G-A. through books, through working together, through Riot Grrrl, and through everything else in between. I am also not ambivalent about letter writing. I love it. I love mail. I love packages, letters, postcards, address labels, and stamps. I probably send out around 5 letters every week to a variety of friends all over the map, and it makes me quite happy. Who does not enjoy receiving real mail, not junk or bills? Holding this book releases all of these thoughts in me, and that is not such a bad thing.

Phoenix, 1997-2010

The Art of Racing in the Rain by Garth Stein
2009
Weight: 9.6 oz
Method of Disposal: Not sure, but I want it gone.



On August 16, 2010 I stayed up late reading the ART OF RACING IN THE RAIN while my baby foster kitten ran up and down the couch. Phoenix, my old man, laid beside me and would give the kitten a sniff from time to time that would cause her to blow up into the tiniest little poof ball. Phoenix’s tail was wagging, and he was given a good pet. The next morning I woke up, left the house to go to work telling Phoenix my usual, “Don’t worry, I will be back. I don’t want to leave either.” I got off work an hour early. I stopped by Walgreens for a totally unnecessary soda and then went home. I opened the door. Phoenix was lying crumpled and dead on the floor by the window. I started yelling at him to get up and fell over the items that blocked my way to him. The consensus is that it was probably a heart attack.

I adopted Phoenix from a local animal control around 11 years ago, and they guessed his age to be two years old. He was a big, scared, black dog with snot hanging down to the floor. It was raining that day, and he was scared to get into our car. They thought he might die since he was so sick, but he recovered. His shelter name was Sprocket and, because I was in 9th grade and he had overcome so much, I named him Phoenix. Later, he would also be known as Fiend, P-Beast, and Feenie.

In his early years, he would bolt out the front door if anyone attempted to open it. He would run straight into children, knocking them over, and then walk away without a second thought about it. He was always terrified of thunderstorms. He was also my best friend, despite the fact that I was a teenager and had trouble showing it. He was there when I broke up with my first love, and he was there for all the trying times I have had since then. He met everyone who was important to me, and he impressed almost everyone he came into contact with. In his older years friends of mine would proclaim that they wished he was their dog or that they wanted a dog just like him. We would use him to socialize other pets that were more timid, and he helped Vallan and I foster ten or more other beasts. He moved 5 + times to new houses and neighborhoods, but he always took it in stride. New smells, new people, new friends. He was cared for by Vallan, my mother, my grandmother, and myself. Every one took care of him in different ways, and he loved all of them. He ended up being the best-behaved dog I have ever had the privilege of calling my family member.

Phoenix was a traveling dog. He loved car rides. He had the opportunity to go cross-country several times, and he was also able to live with my mom on top of a mountain in New Mexico. He never cared for swimming or baths, much to my dismay. He was so afraid of water I am surprised he ever drank any out of the bowl. He did like to lick the water off my ankles when I got out of the shower, and I always hated it, but I would let him, thinking I would miss it one day. I do.

The night before my best friend died, I was reading a book from the perspective of a dog about his love for his owner and his own dying. The book was sometimes trite, and it was often way too human-centric—mostly man-centric. The women characters left a lot to be desired, and the man was the ideal life form. I really don’t care about all that right now though. The book did make me cry often, and I did read it fast. It was good and, for some, I think it would be comforting. I had no idea I would lose Phoenix so soon after reading it and now I want it out of my life. It is not the book’s fault, but it has to go.

Good Bye Fiend Man, I will always love, respect, and cherish you. 1997-2010.