"Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone."
After this entry, this journal is closed. If any of you want to me on my new journal, then add myonlyanodyne, and I will add you back. Do what you want.
She wasn't born well, but she lived well, and she died loved.
She spent the first month of her time with us in a hospital surviving parvo.
In the end, she loved nothing more than a belly rub, a "butt pull", and a "brain scratching".
The last two were invented by me.
She spent the first day or so at our house cowering in corners, hiding under chairs.
Throughout her life, she spent time in vet offices while we were on vacation,
just waiting for the moment we would return. To throw her ball. To spoon with her.
How many dogs actually spoon with you?
How many dogs actually know their toys by heart? By name? By sight?
How many dogs had not one harmful bone in their bodies?
"You are what you love, not what loves you." -Adaptation
This dog loved everyone with every yellow hair we will probably find on every piece of clothing we have... until we go to meet her.
You could do nothing more than love her back.
And I love her still.
Chances are I always will.
It's been a long... long goddamn time since I was moved to tears.
Listening to Rachmaninov's Isle of the Dead isn't helping.
I will always miss her, but I had a long... long time with her. A few months earlier this year when It was just her and I.
She saved my job at Starbucks, and a coworkers. Long story.
She will never ever die, because she was loved.
I loved her.
And she loved me.
She loved all of us.
And I'm betting she still does.
And so shall I love her still.
Goodnight, Chamois. Watch the house until I get back.
She wasn't born well, but she lived well, and she died loved.
She spent the first month of her time with us in a hospital surviving parvo.
In the end, she loved nothing more than a belly rub, a "butt pull", and a "brain scratching".
The last two were invented by me.
She spent the first day or so at our house cowering in corners, hiding under chairs.
Throughout her life, she spent time in vet offices while we were on vacation,
just waiting for the moment we would return. To throw her ball. To spoon with her.
How many dogs actually spoon with you?
How many dogs actually know their toys by heart? By name? By sight?
How many dogs had not one harmful bone in their bodies?
"You are what you love, not what loves you." -Adaptation
This dog loved everyone with every yellow hair we will probably find on every piece of clothing we have... until we go to meet her.
You could do nothing more than love her back.
And I love her still.
Chances are I always will.
It's been a long... long goddamn time since I was moved to tears.
Listening to Rachmaninov's Isle of the Dead isn't helping.
I will always miss her, but I had a long... long time with her. A few months earlier this year when It was just her and I.
She saved my job at Starbucks, and a coworkers. Long story.
She will never ever die, because she was loved.
I loved her.
And she loved me.
She loved all of us.
And I'm betting she still does.
And so shall I love her still.
Goodnight, Chamois. Watch the house until I get back.