You know that cliche, "Maybe it's only a cliche because it's true?" Well, that cliche is what I think about this cliche: "Dog: Man's best friend." Because my last five or so tweets were about my dog Sam, I think I'll force some of my thoughts about Sam onto ye proverbial blog readers.
From the time I found out that you could wish on dandilions and stars and birthday candles, I always wished for a dog. A sister was pretty high on my list too, but I really didn't want anything more than a dog. They're so great! Why wouldn't you want one? And I'll never forget how excited I was to see that crazy little liverspotted dalmation with (presumably) bloodthirsty red eyes* run towards me across the lawn of our old house. It was probably the first and last time to date that I wished on something enough for it to just suddenly come true. Sure, Sam has earned her share of complaints from the neighbors, and she made my parents furious by chewing up expensive stuff and peeing all over the carpet. Most of my friends, relatives and acquaintances hate her because she's always barking at them. But really, the truth is that Sam is protective. The truth is that she's the best dog ever!
When other people talk about their dogs, it's just like "come on. Give it a rest. Your dog is a dog." But I really almost view Sam as my sister, and I really sincerely view her as a reflection and a part of myself. Animals have such pure spirits, and there are times when I swear looking into Sam's eyes is like looking into the eyes of God. Maybe I'm psychopathic, but still. She's one of my very favorite people and one of my dearest companions. Whose shoulder do you think I've cried on all these years? Who do I miss when I'm away from home?
And now that Sam has a huge tumor in her bladder, I have to face a fact that I've honestly spent years dreading and fearing and avoiding: she has to die eventually. This week she spent a couple days and nights at the animal hospital because her bladder filled up waaaay more than it ever should and couldn't drain. From here on out the only way for her to even be alive is to have this little plastic tube draining out of it, and even that won't last very long. It's really horrible not to know how much longer we have with Sam, especially because she's acting like she always does-- she just wants to be petted and maybe go for a walk and eat your leftovers. And tonight, while we all sat in the living room and watched a movie, my mom fed her brownies and petted her and gave her all this special treatment. It was so incredibly depressing because this is it. This is pretty much all the time we have left with someone who's been a member of our family since I was in first grade. I took Sam for a walk at 11:00 pm, and it reminded me of the last hour of Donnie Darko's life. An SUV full of teenagers drove past us and parked at the house where Sam scared a little kid once. I could practically hear the kids in the SUV laughing about the crazy dalmation and the crazy girl walking it in the middle of the night. As if they have any idea!
My parents keep giving me all these different ideas of when they might put Sam to sleep, and it's horrible. I've heard today, Monday or Tuesday, next weekend, in a few months... it could be any time. Although mom insists that I'm wrong, it seems like dad just wants to get the whole thing over with and put Sam to sleep as soon as soon as possible. Mom's concerned about the cost of caring for Sam because it's logistically crazy at this point. But all I want is to keep my puppydog. It's sort of like a Power of the Pen story that could win honorable mention.
On that note!
Things I ate Today:
-Another salad like I ate yesterday, but without the croutons because they were soggy
-3 Hamburger buns
-Mysterious casserole that mom made earlier this week (cornbread, beans, cheese...)
-1/3 pan of brownies
*Just kidding. Her eyes are hazelish brown.