(no subject)
I find it unusual how worked up I still get when I think of Murphy Brown. I wasn't even around her for most of her life. We got her when I was in fifth grade, and up until Senior year of high school, I alternated weekly between my parents. Only seeing her half the time. The last two years of her life, I was there for maybe a month total.
Man, I loved that dog. But why? It doesn't matter, it really doesn't. The question is still there, digging, itching, scratching. I think there was some sort of bond between her and I, some sort of understanding that I haven't ever had before. Some sort of respect and love. They say dog is man's best friend. I'll be first to admit she wasn't my best friend and nor was I hers, my stepdad filled that role wonderfully. Still, there was something I had with her that was unique, and that's what I miss. I always found it amusing how I constantly wanted friends to come out, and I'd tell them I wanted them to see my amazing dog Murphy. She slept, that's it. Amazing? Not traditionally at least. She'd go for a walk with me, and walk herself, I wouldn't hold the leash. She'd come over and sit next to me when I was sad, wouldn't bark, wouldn't growl, wouldn't cry, just sit, and lay next to me. She'd walk through my room when I was putting together a lego model and step all over stuff, but was smart enough not to try to eat anything.
She'd watch.
She'd listen.
She'd be there.
She was a constant, non-biased friend I had.
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I found something amazing the other night. This American Life. A Public Radio show based out of Chicago that is, essentially a radio documentary of the finest kind.
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This is all I can churn out at the moment.