February 8, 2011; Farewell

Two years...

And...well...it was the last straw. Skeeter announced, "Tonight you are going to adapt to our lives. We are going to the theatre and we will not be back until ten—"

"—THAT'S TWO HOURS PAST MY WALK AND MEAL TIME—" I roared.

He went on without even looking at me. "—and you are going to behave or suffer the consequences." I looked up at Boo-Boo who was putting on his coat and he turned away.

"—but! but! but!—" I sounded like a retard and Skeet smiled at me indulgently like I was a retard. And off they went. I didn't piss on the floor or shit or chew something up. I made my plans. This, I knew, was going to be easy. They came home at 10:30 with no apology but, "There's a storm out there," from Skeeter. We ate. I walked. I pissed. I shit. I sharpened my plan. We watched TV. We went to bed. They slept.

Slowly I got out of bed. The house was snoring. Cosmo was in the kitchen. "You sure you want to do this?" the phantom Dalmatian asked. "Yes," I said and with a whispered, "Good luck, then," from him, he disappeared.

I went to the kitchen table, jumped on a chair and grabbed Boo's house keys and then hid them in the couch.

Now I am here. I will try to find a way to keep blogging—I have ideas about that. But this might be my last entry. In a few hours Boo has a meeting. He will go to it, come home and have to ring to get in as his house keys are gone. Skeet will go down to let him in, too pissed off about having to haul his carcass to the door downstairs to notice I'm right behind him.

The door will open...and I am out

LATER

I have to do this. I can't live with the sadness—Boo's, Cate's and sometimes Skeet's. I have my own problems and have to tend to them. I don't have the energy to help help help help all the time. And the Boys organizing their lives so that I have to adapt—well, that will not fly.

Boo has gone to work, Skeet is sleeping. I look around and wonder if there's something...something...

LATER

No. Nothing holding me here.

Move forward, for fuck's sake! Be a dog!

The doorbell is ringing. Have to turn off the computer. Skeet is moaning and bitching...getting up...

Have to go

February 4, 2011; Ceecee and Me

Dear Ceecee (my email began)
I am trying to decide what to do with my future. If you have been following my blog, and I think you have, you'll understand that I am not content. In fact, I think if I hang out here too much longer I'm worried that I will become one of those fat, lazy lap dogs that has to wear booties and a little outfit in the cold and who is always curled up in a bed or in a La-Z-Boy when he's not eating or slogging throw the snow in his knitted ensemble (bitching and moaning all the while).

Please advise me!
D

Dearest Dee
I have been noticing how you seem unhappy and I am very worried. I don't want you to do anything foolish and whatever you do I want you to think long and hard before you do it.

I do know one thing for sure. You may be my twin brother but you are not like me. I like living here in my cozy apartment with my three old birds but I am perfectly aware that you are not like that. In fact I don't think you're like any other dog I know. You're more...lordie...dare I say it?...feral. The way you write and the way you talk to your Boys and all your little rages...well, there is something wild about you. I don't know where that's from. I don't have it. What do you think?
C

Dear Ceecee
I don't know if it has something to do with watching our siblings die in that horrible puppy mill or if it's watching Frank get old so fast after his stroke or even watching the Boys and their crazy lives (which are also lazy lives) but I feel there is a side of me that feels locked in and needs to get out. Maybe it's living in this small apartment with this small life. There's got to be more, doesn't there?
D

Dear Dee
You know those fits all Jack Russells have (even me)? The ones were suddenly we just explode and run and run and run around the house until we can't run anymore? Are you sure that's not what's happening with you—except bigger?
C

C
Way bigger. Too big.
D

D
Please think. Think hard!
C

D
That's all I do.
C

D
You know I love you, don't you?
C

D
I know. And I love you.
C

D
But that's not enough, is it?
C

C
I don't know.
D

D
Think hard, sweetheart. Think very hard.
C

C
I will. I have.
Love you
D

D
xx
C

C

x

D