The Monkey Is In.

So be prepared. Bring a banana.

I'm a writer of horror and dark fiction. I've been doing this since 1999 and believe me when I say, it's cheaper than therapy and safer for the world at large.

Filtering by Category: Dogs

Dozer (2006 - 2021)

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I’ve been sitting at my computer, thinking on how I can begin this post. And I’m at a loss, literally and metaphorically. So what better way to begin than to say I don’t know how.

I have so many firsts involving my boy, Dozer. He was my first pit bull; the first rescue where we knew, at least on some basic level, he didn’t have a good beginning and would need time to feel safe and secure; the first dog that had so much anxiety, he ate through no less than three walls, two doors, busted out of a wire cage and broke teeth on a heftier one, ate through wiring (luckily without electrocuting himself), destroyed a bean bag lap desk so badly to the point that styrofoam beads had spread to the upstairs living room; the first dog that wanted to give love more than he got it; and was the first dog I’d ever had that didn’t favor his mom or his dad, but was happiest when the whole pack was together.

He was also the first dog where we were able to schedule his euthanasia before his physical and mental health became so critical as to require a trip to emergency - which would have been a strange and unknown place, causing more stress and fear on a dog who was already at his limit, and deserved better than that.

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Dozer came into our lives about a year after Roscoe had been our only dog. Dozer was afraid of a lot of things - men, strangers, anything you held in your hand, loud noises, being alone. When we first went to meet him, though, it didn’t take him long to warm up to Robert (maybe 20 minutes). And once he met Roscoe, and moved into our house, I think we all helped him with the rest. Well, for the most part anyway. Fireworks and thunderstorms were his two biggest triggers, but I don’t think I’ve ever had a dog that LOVED either of those things.

The last nearly six years of his life, Dozer was the only dog in the house. I think that may have contributed to his increased anxieties, but at the same time it allowed him to become more confident and sure of himself. So much so that anyone or any dog that dared walk by the back fence was treated to the most fearsome barking and growling I’d ever heard come out of that dog before.

He was a good guard dog and acted like a real tough guy, though I’m pretty sure that was just for show so no one would find out how big of a scaredy-cat he really was. Or to try to infiltrate his territory, obviously.

I have so many thoughts and feelings about this dog that I don’t think I can properly organize them all here in a single post, so please excuse my less than organized ramblings here.

Except for a few years during college, and a few months before moving back to Michigan, I’ve always had at least one dog. And now, for the first time in 27 years (since we moved back), I’m spending my days in an empty house. There are no remaining dogs who Robert and I can force extra love onto to help cope with this recent loss. The only comfort I can find right now is that the current pandemic allowed us to spend so much more time at home with Dozer during what would be his final year. If there’s any kind of silver lining to be salvaged from 2020, this has to be the silveriest of them all for me.

It’s already been two weeks that Dozer’s been gone. I don’t like that time continues to pass, that the world moves on, that I don’t have my little wigglebutt with me anymore. In all honesty, I am broken and I am not okay.

My mind is telling me it will get better, and somewhere deep inside, I know it to be true. Which just makes his absence that much more painful. All I can do is trudge through each day the best I can, cry when I need to, offer support to the hubby when he needs it, and hopefully we can both make it out to the other side of this with minimum scarring.

Good bye, my sweet Dozer. We will meet again some day. Until then, I will love you forever.

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Roscoe P. Coltrane 2005 - 2015

Our family has been reduced by one. On July 13 we had to say goodbye to Roscoe P. Coltrane, one of the most neurotic and wonderful dogs we’ve ever had the privilege of knowing. He took ill suddenly so he didn’t suffer long. We refused to put him through exploratory surgery, a multitude of tests, or feed him any more drugs to maybe, possibly find the cause of his sickness which more than likely wouldn’t have had a cure – or at least he would have gone through hell before the inevitable end. He deserved better than that.

 Whether or not we could see it, Roscoe was an older dog. 10 1/2 years is a hell of a run for a dog his size (larger breeds have a tendency to live shorter lives) and who was not supposed to live long beyond puppyhood anyway, at least according to a DICKHEAD vet at Gasow Veterinary Hospital.

We found this little pup at the “Find Your Best Friend at the Zoo” event in April 2005. He was 7-8 weeks old and sicker than he looked. When we took him to the vet the next day for a check-up, the doc said we shouldn’t bother wasting any money on him because he was too ill. So naturally we said “fuck THAT guy” and spent the next 10+ years spoiling our new dog rotten. He got to spend some time with our other dogs, Buster and Logan (the latter really taking a shine to the little guy), before they had to take their own journeys across the Rainbow Bridge. 

I’m sure you can forgive me my overtly emotional tone here.

Roscoe got the whole house to himself for about a year before we decided he needed a buddy. Not sure he was all that enthusiastic about Dozer’s arrival but after a couple of months, he finally warmed up to his new house mate. He was never a cuddler with D but he did worry when Dozer was out of the house without him. And he let Dozer use him as a pillow from time to time.

I know Roscoe had his issues: trouble with the stairs (he did finally learn to go up and down the basement steps a few months ago, though!); food stealing; garbage digging; poop eating; heralding a guest’s arrival and departure with great hullabaloo; barking at anyone who DARED come within 100 feet of his house/yard. But as Robert and I returned from the vet, holding an empty collar and a slack leash, I realized how much I loved his noise, his powerhouse barking, and his absolute unadulterated enthusiasm at our mere presence.

 I don’t like the quiet now. It’s going to take some time getting used to.

As any pet owner will tell you, we all know these fur babies are temporary pack members. We are only allowed to borrow them for a short time to remind us of how beautiful life can be with them by our sides. And though it hurts like hell to say goodbye, I don’t even want to imagine what our lives would have been without Roscoe’s love and light.

 Roscoe, I hope you find Buster and Logan on the other side. I hope you are happy and healthy and at peace. I hope you are in a place where it’s naked time all the time, a bounty of treats is never more than a paw’s length away, and you can announce the new arrivals with all the gusto you can muster as they pad across the bridge. I will love and miss you until we meet again.