Okay, remember when I was whining about my sucky work week last week? Well, since I was assigned to the Convention Center with our Displaced guest; here it is-day eight and still no day off and the work week went from bad to worst. Don’t get me wrong….working the convention center was cool. Over nine hours long, but I got to know our service men and women very well. Did you know that they volunteer their time in most instances (although they got paid for this particular incident). They are some of the most dedicated people I have ever met, and I was proud to work along side of them.
Still, my work day did not improve. As a matter of fact, the day before last my cousin calls to inform me that he has been accused of sexual assault, in New Hampshire. What the fuck? Yes, this is the cousin with the fat baby, ugly wife and long winded father in-law. “Why are you still cheating?” He said he wasn’t but what do you call it….you just told me you recently had sex with a woman who is accusing you of rape. Damn!
Then, sometime yesterday evening Roscoe pasted away. For those of you who do not know, Roscoe is my dog. When he didn’t come when I called, before going to work last night, I assumed he had just managed to get out the backyard. Since he is so dark and my light is out back there, I couldn’t see him when I looked around. So, I went to work thinking that his dumb ass had gotten out and how I was going to have to yell at him when I found him. After I had gotten to work I got to think, “what if he’s dead.” How bad would I feel if my dog was dead and I was thinking about yelling at him? But surely he wasn’t dead. He was just a little over six years old. That’s not that old for a dog. Anyway, I had to go home to look for some paper work for my lieutenant. I park my squad car in front of the house, half expecting Roscoe to be laying on the front porch, looking all guilty and shit. No. Roscoe. So, I grab my flash light and head around the rear of the house. My back yard is relatively big and I don’t see him immediately. When I do see him, he is laying near the side of the house. I know he is dead, but I yell his name about three times, hoping that he will get up, bat an ear, something; I don’t want my dog to be dead. But he is and there is nothing I could do about it. I have to grab my paper work and head back to work.
I kind of wanted to cry, but I didn’t. I don’t know why. I’m still trying to decipher if I am a bigger punk for wanting to cry or not crying. It doesn't help when you call Animal Control and they want you to not only "sack" your dog, but put him out at the curb. I didn't even want to look at him...not like that, but I supposed I was going to have to "sack" him, but I told the lady that I wasn't able to move him to the curb. Can you image me trying to pick up the corspe of a dog that weighted almost a hundred and fifty pounds when he was alive. Have you even heard of dead weight?
Anyway, I miss my doggie. He was a good dog and a loyal friend. I know I wasn’t always the best owner, but I loved my dog and I hate that he is gone. I miss the way he use to know my car and would run up to the gate in the hopes that I would say “hi”, instead of “shut up”. II miss the way he would want to constantly be around me, to the point of being under foot. I even miss his doggy gas, and Lord knows that crap was potent.
Yeah, can I get some more pee for my cornflakes, please. I can still taste the milk in these.
-One Man’s Opinion. Peace.