Monthly Archives: February 2017
I’m a single girl. I live alone with two large dogs. Some of the conversations I have with them are pretty funny.
Yes I’ve actually said all of these things to them on a pretty regular basis.
What are you doing?
You aren’t helping.
I’m not going anywhere without you (when they follow me into the bathroom because they think I’ll sneak out and go walking without them.)
Come back here.
You need to move.
Do you have to poop on a hill?
What are you eating?
You can’t eat that!
Don’t eat that!
Don’t let him pee on you!
Don’t pee on your sister!
You have to wait. Bubba has to poo
You have to wait. Sissy has to poo
We aren’t going that way (when they smell something interesting in the area we just passed).
Watch your head (when they aren’t paying attention and about to run into something)
Wait, wait (when we are waiting to cross the street)
Wait, there’s a car (when Millie thinks we’ve waited long enough and she wants to go.)
Careful (when its slick and I need them to stay close to my side)
You have to wait for him to finish (once Rocky walks away from his food dish, anything he leaves is fair game for her.)
That belongs to him!
My finger is in there.
Do not make me put on my shoes and come out there! (Usually when they are out in the yard barking and they won’t come when I call their names. Last time this happened was a couple of weeks ago . . . there was a possum in the alley playing possum.)
Make up your mind you’re letting out the hot (winter)/cold (summer). (After Rocky scratches at the back door and wants in but hesitates when I actually open the door to let him in.)
And everyone worries that I’m lonely living here in The Little House all by myself . . .
Hachiko, was an Akita dog that belonged to a professor at the University of Tokyo. Every day he would meet his master at Shibuya Station until one day in 1925 when the professor never returned. Unbeknownst to Hachiko, his master had suffered a fatal brain hemorrhage and would never come home again.
Over the years, I’ve heard the story of Hachiko and thought it was wonderful and heartbreaking at the same time. The poor dog never understood why his human never returned . . . and spent his life waiting for him . . .
After Prince Charming died, I saw a real life example of the devotion that Hachiko showed for his human . . . Rocky never understood why Prince Charming never came home. He sat at the door that first night waiting for the car to pull up in front of the house and Prince Charming to come and “rassle” with him. When I finally went to bed that night, Rocky sat at the top of the stairs sure that Prince Charming would be home shortly and he didn’t want to miss him. It shattered my already broken my heart.
It went on for a many weeks after the funeral, Rocky would walk through the house wondering where Prince Charming could be. He’d sit at the front door, or outside at the gate, waiting for the car to pull up in front of the house. He’d sit at the top of the stairs every night and rush down them first thing in the morning expecting to find Prince Charming at his seat at the kitchen table. Every time it happened it shattered my already broken heart.
After a while, Rocky’s vigils got fewer and farther between. I would find him occasionally sitting at the gate or at the front door just looking at nothing in particular. Or sitting at the top of the stairs when I would say good night to him and tell him I’m going to bed. Each time it happened it shattered my broken but somewhat healing heart . . .
Fast forward to this weekend . . . for some reason Rocky has started his vigil again. And it’s breaking my broken but somewhat healing heart.
I guess I’ve gotten used to the hole in my heart and my life from where Prince Charming should be. It’s usually when someone else tells me how much they miss him and the big hole in their heart and life his death has left that I totally fall to pieces. But when Prince Charming’s beloved Rock Lobster (his nickname for Rocky) shows me that he misses Prince Charming, too, it turns me into a puddle of snot. And I can’t really do that because it upsets Millie to see me cry so much . . . it’s just a damn vicious circle.
I think the people who told me that this gets easier over time lied to me. This shit never gets any easier because it jumps out of left field and strangles the shit out of you.
Last week, I was chastised for chastising someone for using the “r” word in a public post on Facebook.
A friend from high school posted an article about Sarah Silverman calling for a military coup to oust President Trump from office. His only description of the article he posted was the following “You went full retard. Never go full retard.” Apparently this is a quote from a movie called “Tropic Thunder” . . . a movie that I’ve never seen and I was not familiar with that quote. My only comment was “You used the word retard. Never use the word retard.”
After a short discussion with me and another friend who objected to the “r” word, the friend who posted the article apologized for using the offending word, changed his description of the article and removed the posts that discussed the offending word. I thanked the friend for the changes he made to his post and we parted ways as friends. At least I think we parted as friends because he and I never had any further discussions about the post.
During the discussion about the offending word, a second (much closer friend) said that I was wrong to post my comments publicly and I should have shared my comments with the posting friend in a private message. My response that the posting friend made the comments in public and it was proper for me to make my comment in public. It was no different than if we were sitting somewhere enjoying dinner or drinks and he had used that word. Again, the closer friend told me that I was being disrespectful and unprofessional.
Well, here’s where things got interesting. My close friend said that if I had made such a disrespectful comment to him in public, our friendship would have ended. He went on even more to tell me that I was unprofessional and disrespectful and things would be better served in a private conversation. I pointed out to close friend that it only took one sentence to show posting friend the error in his ways and he changed the post. The only one who seems to have a problem with my tactics were him . . . and he didn’t make the post. After a few more back and forth messages, I told my friend that we would have to agree to disagree on this topic. It was too close to my heart to act in a “professional manner.” I’m not a professional FB user, and I don’t think I offended or upset posting friend (I didn’t call him names or use vulgar language). Everybody that knows me knows that I don’t pull punches with my opinion (especially since Prince Charming’s death – life’s too short for stupid shit) and everyone knows where they stand with me. Close friend agreed to the “agree to disagree” truce and we ended the conversation.
But now I’m wondering if close friend is really such a close friend after all. I can’t express myself freely in his presence? He can’t accept my “bulldog” mentality about things I’m passionate about and allow me to have discussions with others in his presence that he might not agree with? He is only comfortable with my opinions if I express them in the same matter that he would.
This disturbs me more and more as I think about it. I am sad at the way the world works these days.