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Lost and Found, Gains and Declines
Jun. 28th, 2014 12:28 amI had a very odd run recently of coming across small items that I'd written off as permanently misplaced: a USB drive that I'd emptied out my purse (twice!) to find, only to have it turn up in a mini notebook in the purse; an earbud cover for my work headphones that rolled up under my foot after being gone for months; and a mini Sharpie marker, normally kept in my purse, that mysteriously migrated outside amidst seedlings to be planted. I'm pleased to have them all back again, but at the same time I'm a little worried that karma or Fate or Something is softening me up for a bigger loss.
The impending loss that I'm most afraid of is my beloved dog Mika. ( My dog is a very very very fine dog )But 2002 was a long time ago. She's at least 13 or 14 now, with the average life spans of her mixed breeds being 12-15 years, and slowing way down. She's reached an elderly, IDGAF state of mind, begging for table scraps with an eardrum-piercing teakettle whine and blatantly abusing my thumb-wielding status to let her out a bunch of times in a short span. She hasn't noticeably grayed in her muzzle, but she's definitely stiffer getting up and down, and I can see her visibly decide "Oh, fuck it" when wildlife dares to cross her line of sight. She'll still get her bark on when other dogs walk by her house on her sidewalk, and the doorbell and ringing of the phone are abominations requiring corrective yelps.
She's my pumpkin butter, my Princess Fluffybutt, my sweetheart girl. I still get an excited greeting when I come home, though most of that is her anticipation of getting to go outside and check out the front yard for peemail left by other critters. She's the first dog I ever had as adult, and she is mine and I am hers through and through. My heart will be absolutely broken when her time comes; I can only hope it will be quick and painless.
The impending loss that I'm most afraid of is my beloved dog Mika. ( My dog is a very very very fine dog )But 2002 was a long time ago. She's at least 13 or 14 now, with the average life spans of her mixed breeds being 12-15 years, and slowing way down. She's reached an elderly, IDGAF state of mind, begging for table scraps with an eardrum-piercing teakettle whine and blatantly abusing my thumb-wielding status to let her out a bunch of times in a short span. She hasn't noticeably grayed in her muzzle, but she's definitely stiffer getting up and down, and I can see her visibly decide "Oh, fuck it" when wildlife dares to cross her line of sight. She'll still get her bark on when other dogs walk by her house on her sidewalk, and the doorbell and ringing of the phone are abominations requiring corrective yelps.
She's my pumpkin butter, my Princess Fluffybutt, my sweetheart girl. I still get an excited greeting when I come home, though most of that is her anticipation of getting to go outside and check out the front yard for peemail left by other critters. She's the first dog I ever had as adult, and she is mine and I am hers through and through. My heart will be absolutely broken when her time comes; I can only hope it will be quick and painless.
