Twenty nine days. That’s how long it’s been. I don’t know how long it’ll be by the time I post this, or even if I will post this. I only know the calendar says twenty nine days ago my dog died. For the dog, the walk was a short one. For me, it was not.
In the first hour I lurched about in the snow; out among the trees. My heart sank beneath the drifts. There it lay moldering amid the crushed leaves and pine needles. I say this not in some nihilistic fit but as one who loves the forest and seeks renewal there. Death, there, in my forest, is but one of many paths. Neither embraced nor hated but simply one thread in the fabric of being.
Even in the snow I could see time passing. Better things on the horizon. Better things are ALWAYS on the horizon. Spring would come, surely I’d be renewed in the spring. Ever the cycle of life repeats.
But that was future and I was in now. And a goodly part of me was lost in cold communion with death.
Later I posted on my blog; mostly to say “The Curmudgeon Is Going Offline For Now”. It was all I could muster. I glad y’all understood.
Then I stared at the ceiling and mourned. I drifted through the drywall and beyond the rafters and into eternity. To be honest I haven’t yet fully returned, though I sense this time is slowly ending. I shall be my old stupid self… if not soon, then eventually.
I am so very fortunate. My loving wife has been a pillar, as have my children. I’m healthy and well and live in a rich, peaceful, advanced, pleasant, society. I inhabit a lovely world which only a fool would fail to appreciate.
Nor does it escape me that this is a dog. A dog is not, no matter how much I love it, a human. And for that matter the last two years were a gift from on high anyway. I should have nothing but joy over every extra day. How conceited to focus on the negative amid such goodness. Alas, logic does not heal a soul any more than chemistry makes a sunset.
In those twenty nine days I also read with gratitude the dozens of kind posts that y’all added to my blog. Thank you very much. They tapped on the walls and brought a measure of solace. An individual e-mail came my way too: “you OK?” That was an especially well timed kindness. Thank you!
In due time, my mostly ignored e-mail reminded me of my little monthly Patreon nudge and that perhaps greased the skids; prepared me to re-enter the land of the living. I like to write and at least some small audiences wants to read. Time to get back at it? Not yet. I couldn’t quite approach the keyboard. My running joke that the dog was my editor (eventually promoted to chief OPSEC officer) was closer to the mark than intended. I tried, but no way in hell could I write a damn thing.
Recently, according the great database in the sky, someone hit my tip jar with the kind of scratch that should have me dancing on tables with a cutlass in one hand and a bottle of whiskey in the other. If you’re the one who sent it, sorry I haven’t responded earlier… I just found out. Also, well played. Very well timed indeed. That little lottery win did an excellent bit of defibrillation on a brain going mossy.
The windfall distracted me. I toyed with ideas. What could I do with it? Something cool seemed in order. I challenged myself to muster some surprise to blog about in due time. Indeed I routed it toward a future walkabout. The enemy of despair is adventure. (At least for me.) So I ordered “adventure equipment”. Please forgive me as I withhold detailed information until I can focus more clearly. I’m still barely holding onto my stupid little Neo2 and adventures need a different mindset.
Time has passed, as time does, and it did what time does. Today I felt like a signal was received. “What more could you possibly want?”
Whether that was the voice of God, the ghost of my dog, or a burrito I’m still digesting doesn’t matter. What matters is it seemed obvious. I’m in a delightfully target rich environment and I’m failing to notice. The universe is armpit deep in stupid funny things. I’M LETTING DUMB SHIT GO BY WITHOUT SMILING ABOUT IT. That won’t do!
Not all revelations come in divine settings. I didn’t see a new way in the glorious view of a sunrise. Nope. I was sitting in a hotel room, a beer in one hand and a bag of Cheetos in the other. I was watching a “news” show. I don’t usually watch “news” on TV (who does?) but I figured a sad guy with a fried mind can indulge in a little mental junk food. They reported about a run on toilet paper like it was Chernobyl and impending planetary insurrection combined. We’re in the middle of an honest to goodness pandemic and all everyone wants to do is squeeze the Charmin? Amazing! I couldn’t help chuckle. This is the kind of crap that makes me happily bang out stories in a Quixotic desire to capture the utter nonsense of it all.
Now, during the eighth or eleventh or fifteenth end of the world, in the very young year of 2020… is a good time to laugh. Because the guy on TV is alarmed that we may run out of shit tickets.
I fired up my little bit shovel and tried to be nonsensical… which should be easy in such unserious times. It didn’t quite work. But the glimmer was there.
Then came another signal. “Write the little girl at McDonald’s story.” Sorry folks, that particular story is neither funny nor topical… but it’s a thing that happened. More importantly it was an idea that came… unbidden… with force. Who am I to deny such things? I will write the story (it’s a true story by the way). I might even post it. Or not. Posting it is irrelevant. Having lived the story is key.
There’s no rush. I’ll get to it when I get to it. First, I’ve got a half a bag of Cheetos left. Some bubblehead on CNN is trying to tell me that everything has gone from bad to worse. Apparently it’ll be cheaper to tank up my Dodge soon and I should be scared shitless about all that money I won’t have to spend. Oooh… unintended joke about toilet paper! Yep, my shoulders feel lighter. Very good. God gave us opera and symphonies, but he also gave us fart jokes and faceplants. How cool is that?
Now I’m going to quit typing. I’m going to enjoy freebasing the heady cocktail of Gell-Mann amnesia and Dunning-Kruger confidence people inexplicably call “news”. The world really is trying to make me smile.
It’s going to be OK… thank everyone for their patience. Thanks for the kind words and the e-mail and the little tips I very much appreciate and the big “no way you can ignore this one” tip too. Y’all are great people. Spring is coming. I’ll thaw out rather than freeze over. Bye for now.
A.C.
Glad to see you back in the digital world.
Thanks.
Whenever you’re ready. No rush. BTW, what kinda beer goes with cheetos?
Modelo negra. It sucks with Cheetos but I’m not feeling picky.
Good to see you again. God bless.
Thanks.
Learning to cope with the affliction/blessing of being “touched by the Great Spirit” is challenging . Those of us whom have the condition are few but united in spirit . Louie Bromfield wrote about it often in his non-fiction works and that is where I first became conscious of it . The American Indians would raid a settlement slaughtering all they encountered until they came upon one who possessed a supernatural affinity with critters . His Aunt Mattie was one . My Aunt May and Aunt Jane were two more as well as myself . They discovered that if anyone brought harm to that person that was “tetched” as the hill folk called it , the Great Spirit brought immediate and horrible death to the offender . So I guess it’s not all bad . But it sure does hurt . If it is any consolation He told me that I would have all my critters when I get to that City .
Welcome back.
Thanks.
I was thinking this Virus outbreak was possibly tied into those damn lesbian Squirrels and possibly you might at some point have a follow up. At our house , in Houston area, we don’t have Squirrels. Ever. Oh yes….some a few blocks away. Houston as a whole just isn’t a squirrel town. I suppose it is too hot or something. Now I have a oak tree in my front yard and never a Squirrel. All good because I have several dogs….all rescues….and I know they wouldn’t put up with Squirrel. Then….it happened….which is why I thought of you. And AbbA, And Squirrels. Just as this damn Virus hits Houston…hits to where our Rodeo got shut down along with all the schools and everything else….yes…a Damn Squirrel was in MY tree yesterday !! ! If that isn’t a sign of Virus-Squirrel end of the world I don’t know what is ! ( Wife said I imagined it but I swear as we drove off in search of dogfood and toilet paper I could hear ABBA playing softly somewhere).
🙂
Lesbian Squirrels always waiting for the most opportune time to strike!
‘Mudge going to have a field day explaining how the squirrels plotted to buy out all of the bog rolls and use them as fart fuses for the survivors of MKUltra. Curmudgeon’s discussion of how everyone has been ‘programmed’ for BS is top notch writing (and all too true for some True Believers). #SocialismForAll but only when the government can make #BorderWallsWork (they’ll need them operational to keep the productive types IN).
Should I be concerned that I actually followed that train of thought?
Maybe. I was concerned that I wrote it. Then again… thanks.
AC: actually, my question was supposed to be for Thor’s Hammer and the comment box said it was for him but it all vanished after hitting publish. I gave up at that point. Although it appears my question could have been directed at you, too. 🙂
Fair ‘nuff. Perhaps Thor’s Hammer will notice this comment.
brought a smile to my pre-coffee face this morning seeing you’d surfaced. Welcome back.
BTW, I’m stealing this wonderful quote: “God gave us opera and symphonies, but he also gave us fart jokes and faceplants. How cool is that?”
Enjoy the quote.
Welcome back. . . now get out and enjoy the Wilds.
Many of us share your pain. That does not lessen the pain, but it lets you know you are not alone. we all learn to cope in our own ways.
Good to have you back.
We lost my wife’s mind to Alzheimer’s. We had to have one dog put down; nine months later I had to put my wife in a nursing home; six months later other our dog died; ten months later I lost my wife. In twenty five months my home went empty and quiet.
Nothing lasts forever.
Jesus man, that’s brutal. I hope you manage the transition as well as possible. Feel free to email me privately if you want to vent about life.
Welcome back! I hope that spring does not bring you too many mudholes.
You’re great. Learn from you!
Good to see you back, AC.
I have thought about you every day since That Day.
I said nothing, but I thought about you.
Glad you’re healing.
Welcome back!
Don F
I’ve checked your site every day since your painful post. We are part of a group that rescue Bernese Mountain Dogs (like the President of Ireland’s) and foster them till they get forever homes from the rescue group. Well, some fosters can’t be rehomed because of medical or some other reasons so… We’ve ended up being hospice for several in the recent past. I know some of the pain you’re going through. That pain sucks. Glad your typewriter fingers are getting itchy.
I see things from a motorcycle perspective.
After a bad event, some riders get back on a bike. Some riders don’t get back on a bike. Some riders can’t get back on a bike. There’s no “right” or “wrong” course of action.
That’s a good analogy. BTW: I’m a rider too.
Good to see you back, AC. I didn’t say anything, because words are so paltry, but your pain was so palpable, my heart was sore.
Find your silly. The world needs silly.
Thanks. I’ll find it in due time.
Sir: “A dog is not, no matter how much I love it, a human.” Precisely. A special pooch, when dialed into their respective ‘man frequency’ is vastly superior to most humans. Some dog/man comraderies are spooky incredible, and cannot remotely be compared to the vast majority of human friend/relative relationships if one is completely honest. I for one, have been blessed in multiples…….sorry for your recent loss.
Yes, dialed into the right frequency is the proper phrase. Most dogs are great but not all dogs complete the man/dog mind meld (for want of a better term). I just lost a dog of the latter sort.