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Best Friends and Goodbyes



Around twelve years ago, my younger brother Isaac got his fantasy Christmas gift; a one year old Golden Retriever.  Our previous dog had had to be put down due to her trying to eat Isaac’s face off and a family in our homeschool group had come to realize that a giant, energetic ball of fur was too much for their small children to handle.  So our parents took in Biscuit, named after a series of childrens books, about a Golden Retriever puppy named Biscuit.

Biscuit was a fun and occasionally naughty dog.  He was obsessed with tennis balls and could play for hours.  He wasn’t big on being petted, but would run around with my brothers and I and would often accompany us on walks down to the river, where he would swim and swim and shake his drenched fur all over us.

When I went to college, I would ask how Biscuit was, playing with him when I would come home, hoping he and our adopted dog Bingo were doing fine.  When Bingo died, we tried to keep Biscuit even more company, teaching him how to correctly wander the house and let us know when he needed to go outside. 

When I moved home after finding out I was pregnant, Biscuit became my best friend.  There were days where he was the only creature I would speak out loud too.  I trained my ancient dog to sleep in my room, we would go on walks every day that got shorter and shorter as my belly grew and his legs got weaker.  During our intense times together, he finally allowed me to start petting him, a giant step of trust that I cherished.

When I received Scotti in 2011, Biscuit seemed so mad, but eventually learned to just ignore the puppy and go about his business.  I think he was happy about the new routine of giant treats and special presents. 

Since January, Biscuit’s sight disappeared, his eyes going completely blue, his mind slowly going.  A friend prepared a hole, just in case he died in the winter.  Biscuit needed help getting up and the walks shortened to just a trip around the block.  Every visit to the boarders had me writing out a note saying if necessary, to put him down and not inform me until I came home.

In August, after Isaac went back to school, it was decided that it was time.  Biscuit had been one of the best dogs ever, but he was in far too much pain to bear.  One Wednesday at lunchtime, he, my mom and I took one final walk to the vets office after a farewell bowl of Peanut Butter Panic ice cream.  The Doctor and her assistant allowed my mom to sob as they put my best friend into his final sleep.

Do I miss Biscuit?  Of course.  I’m not joking in the slightest when I say he was my best friend.  There truly was three weeks where I only left the house to walk him and didn’t speak out loud to humans.  He would lay beside me while I cried and was always happy to eat my leftovers.  He didn’t warn me when I was about to walk in on a kid who broke into our house, but demanded I comfort him when the cops arrived.

Now Biscuit sits in a pretty little tin, on a shelf by my father.  I’m pretty sure he’s being super demanding about a tennis ball in heaven.


Dear Mommy

Dear mom,
I know you love me. I mean, how could you not? I am an excellent basement dweller, always make dinner and occasionally do laundry. I seriously need Internet and Netflix though. Below I’ll give you (and the world) reasons why.

1. With Netflix I won’t always be fighting with the antenna or decide to watch 6 hours of crime shows because they’re whats playing on the one channel that isn’t fuzzy.
2. I’ll have a better idea of what my peers are talking about when they start discussing current TV programs and stars. This might lead to me actually making friends.
3. I’ll occasionally even choose to watch a documentary, thus making me smarter.
4. Without Internet, there’s really no need for Netflix.
5. Imagine all the new recipes I could find.
6. I could constantly be on the look out for big girl jobs!
7. And when not looking for and applying to big girl jobs, I could be doing fantastic projects, revamping our (your) home and maybe even open up a little shop.
8. I could blog about these projects, the recipes, what I’m watching and maybe the blog would become famous and I could make some money.
9. Or the fame could lead to a reality show/book deal. You know that we are way cooler than Kris and Kim. Epic showdown?
10. I could become the best Internet dater ever! Find a rich husband who wants to pay my bills and yours and then you’d finally have that empty nest.

So let’s do it. I did the math, don’t you love me?

Love you, mean it.

Zumba, eh.

I am an absolute pro when it comes to “adopting” peoples old things.  Oh, you don’t want that tennis racket?  Please, allow me to put it with the other 15 I have as I plan out a Pinterest worthy craft.  What do you mean this cat is no good?  She’ll be excellent for harassing the schoolchildren walking home. Blahblahblah.  I love when people give me things, mainly because I have no money to buy them on my own. 

But don’t worry, I totally got that cat fixed.

When a family friend caved to the pressure of a man with an accent selling Zumba DVDs on the TV, I knew it wouldn’t be long until those videos were in my possession.  I know that I’ve got white girl moves, but I’d totally win in a dance off with this chick.  So now I’ve had this set of six DVDs and loudasfuck maracas/hand-weights since late winter.  Guess what, there is zero Latin blood in this body.  After taking an extended break, mainly because it was too hot to do anything but drink Gin Rickies and fantasize about designer s’mores, I decided to hop back on the Zumba wagon.  I still have zero sexy dance moves.  That’s cool though, because bitch, I got heart. 

Why am I telling you all this?  There’s no one around to talk to and my dog is all like “yo, I don’t care about your problems.”  Whatever.

Also, I just finished a two mile bike ride and will now continue to finish dying.

And no, I didn’t put in any YouTube links to people Zumba-ing.  I don’t know where you people get your jollies.