- RT @CatConlan: Twitter's reading like one long Minnesota goodbye but no one has slapped their thighs and said "welp" so I know it's not ser… 2 weeks ago
- RT @jonstewart: See you on the other side Arbys…#RIPTwitter 2 weeks ago
- @BewilderedPod @kennebunklib Yay! That’s so exciting ❤️ 3 weeks ago
- RT @shirtsthtgohard: https://t.co/d8d77IRMkv 1 month ago
- Just bought a new crockpot without doing hardly any research. In case any of my high school classmates were wonderi… twitter.com/i/web/status/1… 1 month ago
- November 2022
- September 2022
- August 2022
- July 2022
- June 2022
- May 2022
- April 2022
- March 2022
- February 2022
- January 2022
- March 2021
- February 2021
- January 2021
- December 2020
- November 2020
- October 2020
- September 2020
- August 2020
- July 2020
- June 2020
- May 2020
- April 2020
- March 2020
- February 2020
- January 2020
- December 2019
- November 2019
- October 2019
- September 2019
- August 2019
- July 2019
- June 2019
- May 2019
- April 2019
- March 2019
- February 2019
- January 2019
- December 2018
- November 2018
- October 2018
- September 2018
- August 2018
- July 2018
- June 2018
- May 2018
- April 2018
- March 2018
- February 2018
- January 2018
- December 2017
- November 2017
- October 2017
- September 2017
- August 2017
- July 2017
- June 2017
- May 2017
- April 2017
- March 2017
- February 2017
- January 2017
- December 2016
- November 2016
- October 2016
- September 2016
- August 2016
- June 2016
- May 2016
- April 2016
- March 2016
- February 2016
- January 2016
- December 2015
- November 2015
- October 2015
- September 2015
- August 2015
- July 2015
- June 2015
- May 2015
- April 2015
- March 2015
- February 2015
- January 2015
- December 2014
- November 2014
- October 2014
- September 2014
- August 2014
- July 2014
- June 2014
- May 2014
- April 2014
- March 2014
- February 2014
- January 2014
- December 2013
- November 2013
- October 2013
- September 2013
- August 2013
- July 2013
- June 2013
- May 2013
- April 2013
- March 2013
- February 2013
- January 2013
- December 2012
- November 2012
- October 2012
- September 2012
- August 2012
- July 2012
- June 2012
- May 2012
- April 2012
- March 2012
- February 2012
- January 2012
- December 2011
- November 2011
- October 2011
- September 2011
- August 2011
- July 2011
- June 2011
- May 2011
- April 2011
- March 2011
- February 2011
Tags2013 2020 adulting advice advice for new parents Aprill Brandon baby showers bad haircuts blog Boston breastfeeding breastfeeding in public Buffy bumblebees cartoon christmas cleaning coronavirus dave barry dog fur dogs eggnog end of the world Facebook first time mom first trimester funny Game of Thrones halloween happy holidays heat wave holiday humor how to cook a thanksgiving dinner humor insomnia kim kardashian life lessons lord of the rings losing the baby weight marriage marriage humor meme miscarriage Mother's Day netflix new england Panama parenting parenting fail parenting humor pets portlandia pregnancy quarantine humor road trips ryan reynolds scary mommy sesame street snl starbucks star trek stay at home moms summer vacation supernatural taylor swift technology texas thanksgiving things I've learned turducken war on Christmas wasps witching hour zombie apocalypse zombies
Hey, guess what? Did you know that my kids had this entire week off school? Yeah! ‘Cause we live in New England where someone at some point inexplicably thought it’d be a great idea to send all the children back to their parents during February, the coldest and most miserable time of the year.
Oh! And hey guys! Did you know that my youngest also got sick this week? Which meant we couldn’t leave the house. But that’s OK. It gave us time to learn lots of new things! Like, did you guys know that ancient Egypt is in Africa and they have mummies and they pulled the mummy’s brain out through their nose?
Through their nose!
And did you know that kitties are the cutest animals? Followed by puppies followed by unicorns, no WAIT, followed by baby unicorns followed by unicorns followed by baby foxes.
Oh! And um, did you know the difference between mummies and zombies is that zombies are of right NOW and mummies are from long ago. Also mummies don’t eat brains.
King Tut is from Egypt. Bet you didn’t know that. You know what else is cool? Ancient Greece. The Parenthesis is in ancient Greece.
Oh, and hey, um…did you know…uh, did you…know…that, um, oh no, I forgot! YOU GUYS MADE ME FORGET! This is all your fault! This is the worst vacation EV…oh wait, I remember. Hey, um, do you guys think unicorns are real? Because they are. My daughter saw one one time.
Also, it is too called the Parenthesis! It was in a book my son read so it has to be true.
Oh, and hey! Guess what! My daughter’s one classmate never listens to the teacher and sometimes makes poor choices but that doesn’t make them a bad kid they just get in trouble sometimes and one time my daughter was on the swing and they wanted the swing so they pushed her out of the swing and she got a boo-boo but you can’t see it anymore but it was a big boo-boo, like really big, and Wednesday is pizza day and her reading buddy’s name is Tristan.
Anyone want to hear a real quick fast fact? Dinosaurs did not live in ancient Greece.
Also, dinosaurs are cool. But not as cool as baby unicorns. Everyone knows that. It’s literally a FACT.
Oh! And here is something I learned that my kids didn’t teach me. Did you know a buttload is a real thing? Yeah, it’s a now obsolete but once very real measurement of weight that equaled about 384 gallons. Cool, huh?
OK, well, I’m off to go drink a buttload of wine right now! Bye!
First off, let me begin by thanking you all for making time in your busy schedules to attend this Family Meeting. I know that since the acquisition of the Nintendo Switch last quarter, many of us have been swamped with Mario Kart and the subsequent onslaught of Mario Kart trash talking.
However, with a new year upon us, I thought it would be a good time for the four of us to sit down and assess, as a family, how we’re doing. Especially as we enter, let’s see… *checks clipboard* …yup, year three of this godforsaken pandemic.
Now, we’ve pushed this off for far too long, so to help keep us on track, I will be using this free employee performance review template I found online. I think we can all agree we don’t want this meeting to devolve into the Good Winners & Losers Discussion/Tater Tot Dodgeball Disaster of 2020.
Alright, let’s see, let’s see. How about we start with something easy? Ah, here we are…
Attendance. Well, pffft. I mean, I think it’s fair to say we’ve all excelled at that. What with all the remote schooling you two did last year, and Daddy working from home since…forever? With his office just RIGHT HERE in the living room. Always typing. And talking with his ZOOM VOICE. When are you going back to the office again, sweetie? Not until spring now? Ah. Awesome. Awesome. Well, it’s a good thing that constantly being around each other in a somehow eternally shrinking house makes the heart grow fonder then.
Okey-dokey, moving on…
Demonstration of core values: Hmm. Do we have core values as a family? Honesty? Meh, I suppose. Cheese? Is that a core value? We did expand to two cheese drawers in the fridge last year. One for fancy cheese and one for peasant cheese. That counts, right?
Communicates clearly: Oh, well, overall I’d say we’ve done pretty well with this one. We are definitely loud. In fact, it’s hard not to hear all the communicating, as our neighbors have informed us many, many times. …What’s that? Ah, yeah, I suppose I could growl less at you. It just gets the point across so effectively, you know? Can I at least hiss? Yes, you can hiss back.
Requires minimum supervision: Nope. Fail. You all fail. Moving on.
Responsiveness in a timely manner: FAIL. Moving on. …Oh, you disagree? Really? Remember when I asked you to clean all the comic books out from under your bed? Three months ago? MOVING. ON.
Works to full potential: Ugh. Who has the time? Next…
Problem solving: This one I feel we actually did pretty decently. We fixed the off-balance dishwasher with the sugar canister and those two menus from Pini’s. The duct tape is holding up the towel rack quite nicely and you can hardly notice the big hole in the ceiling since we glued that piece of cardboard up there.
Takes initiative: I’d like to give a special shoutout to our kindergartner on this one. She definitely took the lead in demonstrating that you can both figuratively AND literally climb the walls if you have a wanton disregard for any and all household items. AND that swinging from the chandelier is not just a fun expression for having a good time. Yes, you’re still grounded.
Deals with conflict: I’ll be honest, we could all use less swords in this area. And Nerf crossbows. Speaking of which, how did we amass so many crossbows? Eighteen seems a bit excessive.
Listens and shows respect toward fellow group members: Again, this is an area that could use significantly fewer weapons.
Suggested areas of improvement: All? Probably starting with pants. We should definitely be wearing them. Oh, and how about screen time? I’m told there should be limits. And our eating habits could use some tweaking. You guys call cherry tomatoes those gross red grapes. Well, yes, I agree, they are super gross but the point is to at least make the effort. I mean, haha, we can’t always behave like we’re living through a pandemic.
What’s that? The numbers are going up? Oh, record high numbers, in fact. Everything is in danger of shutting down again? Hospitals overflowing because of the Omicron variant? Wait, what? Now there is talk of a fused “deltacron” strain?
BIG CURSE WORD.
No, you can’t repeat that.
Alright everyone. Pants back off. Who wants a brick of cheese for dinner? Brick of cheese? Brick of cheese? Maybe with a side of box o’ wine for mama? Of course we can play Mario Kart while we eat. I look forward to crushing all you losers. But first, has anyone seen my sword?
I didn’t realize it at first. It dawned slowly as I stared unblinking at it. Three little words but they were all mine. They were all I had ever wanted. My name. An actual byline. In print.
That was 20 years ago. Since then I’ve seen it in newsprint, glossy magazine pages, slick media websites and my own shoddily constructed blog site, Chick Writes Stuff. All these years later, I still feel a bit of a thrill when I see it.
But this is my last one. I’m ending my humor column.
No one is more surprised than I am. I planned to write my last column on my deathbed. Laughing defiantly until the end.
But as the old saying goes, humor is tragedy plus time. And there is no time anymore. It’s all just one tragedy piled on top of another piled on top of another. There doesn’t even seem time to take a breath let alone process the broken world that won’t stop fracturing.
Which is funny because that’s how all this got started. As a preteen I was overwhelmed by everything. Every day felt like the world was ending. I’d lay awake at night, trying to think of all the awful things that could happen because I believed if I thought of it first it couldn’t happen in real life. Because I was an 11-year-old girl and the only power I had was superstition.
And then, like a deus ex machina by way of Florida, I discovered Dave Barry. I devoured every column of his I could get my eyes on. It was remarkable. Possibly even witchcraft. He taught me that if you could make fun of something, if you could laugh at it, it lost some of its power.
This was doubly true when you could find a way to laugh at yourself. Laughter seemed to quiet the inner demons.
I wanted to wield that magic like he did and make the world a slightly less awful place. To be a tiny flicker of levity, no matter how inconsequential, in the crushing darkness.
But I can no longer write my way out of this darkness. I’ve tried. I’ve sat down before my computer every day for months. Whatever does manage to come out is forced. I am too angry. Bitter. Sad. I didn’t realize how much faith in humanity I had until I lost most of it.
And without hope I can’t find the humor anymore.
I wish I had a better exit than this. I mean, 20 years. Half of my life. This dream job of mine deserves a proper eulogy.
But honestly I just want to get this last one over with. It hurts too much to linger.
And so, let me end this ending by saying it has been my immense privilege writing for you, whoever you are out there reading this. I was never hugely popular, only ever with a small following (and even then that is stretching that concept to its limit) as I moved across this country over the years. But I loved it, all of it, none more so than when someone told me I made them laugh. I cannot thank you enough for reading so I won’t even try.
And to my editors, I still can’t quite believe I found actual live human beings to publish my words. Thank you all for letting me live out my fantasy. Especially to Editor Bob, my Bobbert, Bob Robinson, the man who gave me my very first column when I was 20. And especially to my editors over the years at the Victoria Advocate, who will be publishing my last as I am on the cusp of 40. You took a chance on me. You believed in me. Every writer deserves editors like you. Every person deserves people like you in their corner.
I hope one day to write again. To laugh again. To type something immeasurably witty about the Grim Reaper right before he takes me.
But for now I just…
…don’t know how to end that sentence anymore.
There are some people in this world who will tell you that there is no “right” way to play with your children in the snow. These people are wrong. And probably serve their children fruit as “dessert.”
There is a right way. Oh sure, a few details might vary and there is some accounting for individual family quirks, but on the whole, no matter how good of a parent you are, snow days follow an almost scientific formula. At least according to the data I have collected over the last seven years.
First, any proper snow day begins by the children waking up at dawn, looking outside their window and then immediately running into your room, where they jump on your face and loudly ask if they can go play in the snow. They will then repeat this question every five minutes and whine “but you PROMISED!” over and over and over again until you finally roar “FINE!” at the top of your lungs and they scamper away squealing with delight like the relentless, adorable gaslighters they are.
Then begins the thankless task of gathering all the outerwear, which were scattered to the distant four corners of your house the last time your children played in the snow. In between muttering obscenities about missing gloves and yelling about how in the world can all the snow boots only consist of the left snow boot, you remind everyone to go potty. Because once all these layers are on you are NOT taking them all off again.
The next half hour is a blur of stuffing tiny humans into snowpants and socks and sweaters and hoodies and hats and one glove while still looking for the other stupid glove and sunglasses for the kid who can’t go anywhere without sunglasses and scarves and ya’ll peed, right, because I’m not taking all this off again and ah-HA! there is that other stupid glove and what do you mean you lost the first glove, it was literally on your hand, and coats with stuck zippers and I told you the other snowboots were probably by the door and push harder, when did your feet grow, why are you growing all the time, and HEY, I found the glove, it was in mommy and daddy’s room, I told you stay out of our room.
Finally everyone is ready.
Everyone has to pee.
Repeat. Repeat it ALL.
Now if you have a big backyard and can simply open the door and release these loud toddling bundles into the wintry wild, stop reading here. Go contentedly sigh and enjoy a glass of wine in your dumb peaceful house or something.
For those of you who are like me and have small children in a city and thus need to “go somewhere” such as a park to play in the snow, the worst is yet to come.
Once you finally “get somewhere” (which, regardless of how you get there, will include many complaints and gritted teeth threats) there will be approximately ten minutes of pure, unadulterated joy. This is the brief moment in time where you remember why you decided to have children in the first place and why you love them and your family and your life and how did you possibly get so lucky as to be able to share a life with these people?
Then, just like the cheap plastic sled they sit upon, it all swiftly goes downhill.
Soon, someone will run over someone else with their sled because the kid on the sled didn’t listen and the kid climbing back up the hill didn’t listen. Everyone is crying.
They need a distraction. LET’S BUILD A SNOWMAN! Is there any activity that is more wholesome? Nope. At least for the next three minutes, after which you realize that you are the only one actually building the snowman and you can no longer feel your fingers.
Luckily, someone will always, inevitably, suggest a snowball fight. What could go wrong?
No aiming for the face, you yell over and over again. Surprisingly the kids abide. Eventually, however, you will hit one of the children in the face. By “accident” of course and not some subconscious urge. They will cry. You will feel awful (mostly). You will offer cookies and hot chocolate as consolation when you go back home. They will accept and immediately pop up like nothing happened.
You stay until both feet are completely numb and you’re pretty sure you’ve already lost three fingers to frostbite. When you finally can’t take it anymore, you give a five minute warning. May as well have been announcing you murdered Memaw AND Grandma AND Daniel Tiger. The wailing. The keening. The dramatic protestations that if you really loved them you would let them play for just a little longer.
Through sheer force of will (and some light dragging), you eventually wrangle them home and inside. Everyone violently disrobes, snow and ice and boots and gloves and hats flying, everything wet and gross and dirty. You are too tired to gather them all up even though you know you will later regret this.
It’s over. You survived.
Only a thousand more days until spring.
It was still dark when I opened my eyes. Which was unsurprising. It’s always dark whenever I open my eyes these days. Now is the winter of our discontent and raging insomnia, as the old saying goes.
Or something like that.
But this dark was a different kind of dark. This wasn’t my usual infernal and endless 2 a.m. dark. I didn’t recognize this dark. This dark had a bit of, was that, no…a hint of dimness? I started to turn over in bed to look at the clock, ruthlessly crushing the hope that was struggling to rise in my chest on my way.
In the A.M.
I had slept through the night?
I looked at the clock again.
I had slept through the night.
I slowly sat up, careful not to disturb my husband lest his symphony of snores prematurely end before the big fart finale. I shuffled to the kitchen in my slippers. I started making the coffee, almost as though in a daze.
What is this odd feeling?
Is this…not tired?
Is this what feeling well-rested is like?
Like waking up not wanting to punch the world in the face?
As the last of my peaceful drowsiness wore off, I realized that was indeed what I was feeling. I smiled. This is what it must feel like to be a Disney princess. Those birds singing outside? That chubby squirrel eating a stolen bagel outside my window? Any moment now they would beg to come inside so they could help me get dressed.
Soon thereafter my kids woke up, rubbing their eyes and scratching at their bedhead.
“Good morning, my babies!” I cheerfully bellowed.
The kids froze, confused. Who was this creature smiling an authentic smile in front of them? And what happened to the swamp witch they called Mom?
Then, to really terrify them, I made an actual breakfast. Using the actual stove. And pots! And pans!
When the kids threw dual tantrums over being told to brush their teeth (a daily morning ritual) I did NOT scream back this time. I just gave them space to have those Big Feelings. Like one of those parents who actually read a parenting book.
My husband made three dad jokes that morning. I laughed at all three. And pinched his butt when he walked by me to get more coffee.
Later, we went to the library to pick up a stack of books.
“Can we stop at a playground on the way home?” the kids asked, already bracing themselves for the obvious “no” headed their way because one, it was 28 degrees outside and two, I wasn’t wearing my out-in-public “good” sweatpants.
“Sure!” I exclaimed.
“Really!?” they exclaimed right back.
We got home. I made hot cocoa. And popcorn. And let them have cookies because life is meant to be lived!
“You’re the best mom ever!” my son yelled as he threw his arms around my waist.
“I know, right!” I happily hollered back. “Now, what do y’all want for dinner?”
“Can I have sprinkles on mine?” asked my daughter, allowing a bit of hope to slip into her voice.
“You bet your sweet redheaded tuchus you can!”
She jumped up and hugged me too.
Oh, the person I could be if I got a good night’s sleep every night, I thought to myself as I did ALL THE VOICES during bedtime storytime. If I didn’t have to ration my energy throughout the day. If I could regulate my emotions (or even just one emotion occasionally). If my brain worked as designed instead of being held together by metaphorical duct tape and Elmer’s glue.
Maybe it won’t always be this bad, I tell myself as I get ready for bed. These are extraordinary times, and not in the good way. But maybe it’s getting better. Maybe I can be my old self soon.
Maybe sleep will stay this time.
Maybe every day can be like today.
I close my eyes.
And welcome the dark.
In this age of Larger-Than-Life characters, there lurks in the shadows another archetype. One that often gets overlooked in all the noise and chaos. Yet, they are content to stoically remain on the sidelines, emerging only in times of great need.
The Quiet Hero.
They can be any gender, any race, any age. The only thing they have in common is that they ask for nothing in return. They are the mythic ones whose mild mannered alter-ego is exactly the same as their mild-mannered superhero persona.
Which brings me to Randy. He’s our landlord’s loyal handyman. Randy the Handyman, if you will. We’ve known him for almost a decade now. We’ve known his assistant, Jacob, for quite a few years now too. It was these two Quiet Heroes who strode bravely into our house yesterday, on a mission to fix our garbage disposal, unaware of the hurricane they were about to enter. For, unbeknownst to them, our preschooler and first grader haven’t seen the inside of a school since March. They haven’t had a sleepover in almost a year. They haven’t been to a birthday party or attended a family reunion or been to a festival or gone on vacation in a long, long time. In short, they were desperate for socialization.
It was the perfect storm.
And so, in honor of these noble yet unsuspecting gentlemen, I immediately got out my laptop and transcribed what followed as accurately as I possibly could.
*knock at door*
Hi! Randy! Hi! Hey Randy!
Hey! Hey Randy! Look at my toy! Randy!
What’s that other guy’s name again?
Hey! Hi Jacob! Jacob, hey, hi!
Randy, I lost four teeth!
I have pink headphones, want to see?
I have blue ones!
Have you ever read the book “Too Many Toys”? Hey Randy, have you ever read the book “Too Many Toys”?
I said I have blue ones! Blue headphones! Hey Randy!
Hey Jacob! Have you ever read “Too Many Toys”?
Hey Randy, I plug my headphones into the little hole on my tablet. Just like this.
There’s a funny part where the mom goes “Spencer, you have TOO MANY TOYS!” What are you guys doing?
Hey Randy! Do you want to see the comic book I wrote?
Hey, our dog died.
Yeah, our dog died.
Can I play with your tools?
What’s that thing do?
Hey Jacob, can I have this?
What’s a garbage disposal?
Did they teach you how to fix this in school?
Hey, we just learned about germs today.
Hey! Guys! Look what I can do!
Look at my purse! Hey Randy! I keep all the shiny stuff in here. Do you guys like shiny stuff?
I made a spaceship out of Legos! Or maybe it’s a boat.
Hey Jacob, are you a cowboy? You look like a cowboy.
How old are you, Randy? Because you look old.
Hey! Watch me do this! Are you watching? Watch.
Where are you putting the old…what’s that thing called again?
Can I help?
Yeah, hey, can I help?
Did you know when dogs die they go over the rainbow bridge?
My favorite food is mac and cheese! What’s your favorite food? Is it cupcakes?
This went on for over an hour. And not only did these two men not slaughter my entire family with a socket wrench, they actually listened to everything my kids hurled rapid-fire at them and answered all their questions and stopped numerous times to “watch this!”
All while also trying to do their jobs.
All while keeping big smiles on their faces.
Yes, not all heroes wear capes. Some simply wear a toolbelt and give some kindly attention to two little kids bravely trying to weather a pandemic.
Attention! Attention, everyone! *tings whiskey glass*
First, let me just say thank you all for coming. As I’m sure you know, we’re here to celebrate the life of my beloved and dearly departed Buffy. To toast to his memory and give him a proper sendoff.
Now, there are many myths and legends surrounding that ridiculous old mutt. All of them true, I can assure you. His was a very Dickensian beginning. A small orphaned puppy found shivering in a snowy field. Abandoned. Dirty. Hungry. The only thing missing was a tiny tattered newsboy cap. How could we say no? Even if he did smell like dumpster fire.
Right away we knew we were in trouble. That first night, we made a makeshift kennel for him. He immediately escaped. We added reinforcements. He immediately escaped. We added more. This time it took him five whole minutes to escape. After that he slept in our bed.
And every single night thereafter.
That outsized personality only grew bigger as he grew older. I mean, I live in a house swarming with screaming redheaded children and yet, without him, it seems empty now. Everywhere I look has a Buffy-sized hole in it. And there are crumbs now. I haven’t seen crumbs in 15 years…
Oof. Sorry. Got a bit misty-eyed there. Where was I? Ah, yes, clearly Ryan and I were far from model dog owners but Buffy, to his credit, did do his best to train us. In fact, it only took him about three months to teach us to never let the bottom of the food bowl show and that if he was straining on the leash we needed to speed up, not the other way around.
That was the thing about Buffy. He was smart. Much, much smarter than us. And stubborn. So stubborn. When I dared to buy him a fluffy new dog bed this winter, he would stare defiantly at me as he walked toward it and then plopped painfully down beside it on the cold, hardwood floor. That dog was so stubborn that when he showed the first signs of decline on Christmas Eve, my husband cuddled with him on the floor and asked him to try to hold on through the holidays. For the family.
He made it until January 14th.
Oh wow. Sorry. No tears. No tears today. Today we celebrate his life. Speaking of which, I’d like to give a shout out to my mom here, who taught me that you love a dog for his entire life. Beginning to end. From soup to nuts, if you will. Which is funny because Buffy lost his pretty early on. I finally apologized to him for that, by the way. The last time I saw him. He was laying on a blanket at the animal hospital, my own body wrapped around him, his eyes in so much pain I’m not even sure he recognized me.
It all happened so fast.
He probably would have made beautiful puppies.
Ah. Again. With the crying. Sorry. This is all just so…Hey! Did I ever tell you guys how Buffy ended up with his name? It’s a great story. Ryan and I were just getting to know each other and joking about how any future dog we get should be named after the show that helped bring us together. It was only a few weeks later that he held up a smelly, wet, filthy ball of fur with giant brown eyes and said “can we keep him?” And I replied “only under one condition.”
You know, no one ever really deserves a dog. And yet, they still walk beside us every step of the way.
I never asked to be loved like that. I don’t even know how it was possible. He consistently saw me at my worst. My most flawed and human self. He saw that, day after day, for 15 years, and still loved me.
And then he had the nerve to die.
You can’t love someone unconditionally like that and then just leave them. How dare he! What do I do now? Just live without him by my side? I don’t know how to do that anymore.
I mean, what kind of ridiculous creature let’s you cry into his fur when you’re sad and yell at him when he doesn’t deserve it because you’re mad about something else and forgives you every single time you walk out that door and he has no idea when you’ll be back, and through it all is never, ever not happy to see you?
A stupid dog, that’s who. A creature so damned wonderful that I needed to write up a fictional wake for him after his death to help me process the devastating loss I just experienced…
Oof. Again, I apologize. Sobbing tends to make people uncomfortable. *chugs fictional whiskey* Besides, a wake, even a fictional one, is about celebration. And when it comes down to it, Buffy had a long and incredible life. One that deserves to be honored and remembered.
He deserves better than this. But let it be known I tried.
And so, everyone, if we could, let’s all raise a glass and take a drink to help send that gorgeous little puppy of mine on his way over the rainbow bridge. May you all be fortunate enough to find a best friend like him someday.