She’s going downhill fast. Faster than I anticipated. So fast that we already plan to bury her in the middle of nowhere under a small copse of trees that she used to spend the summer in the shade of.

It’s hard for me to think about digging a hole in the black Texas soil and tossing my companion of over 16 years into it. It makes me feel uncomfortable to think about; then I have to think about the good times and the bad times and how she’ll forever live on in my heart and all that sappy bullshit. It’s only bullshit because I’m angry and later I’m sure I’ll be all over talking about how she’d run and leap through the waving fields of gold and pounced in the snow and nursed all three litters of her puppies like a good ol’ country dog.

But for now, I’m angry because I’m sad and sadness is a very offensive emotion to have.

In relative terms, she’s lived longer than any other pet. She’s been in my life longer than my best of friends. She’s received more care from me than any other pert of my life. I guess what I’m trying ot say is that when she leaves there’s going to be a gap there. There’s going to be a raw wound the approximate size of a shelty/terrier mix and there’s not going to be anything there to fill it and soothe the ache.

I don’t want her to go. I don’t want to lose a living part of my past life in Quinlan, at 710 Schmitz, in highschool, in my awkward teens, in my young 20’s. I don’t want to have to mourn the passing of a living artifact because it also means that part of my life is over. That previous life I spent as a small and frightened child will end and I’ll have to continue on to Part 2: Responsibility Boogaloo. 

Bottom line is I’m going to miss her and it’s not fair. You may think the better half of a lifetime is enough but it’s not. It’s really, really not.