Everything is dying. Well, two things. Seems like everything, sometimes.

El Guapo, Aka The Noobers, Aka Guapo L. Dog, died on Saturday.  Put down, actually. I saw him on Friday, I think. I tapped on the window at  my parent's house, as I always do when I am too lazy to reach into my pocket and grab my keys. He didn't bark. And he didn't seem to recognize me. Didn't respond to my calls.

He was already somewhere else.

Now, I lie in bed, in my own home, with my own dogs. They hog the sheets. The ever-blowing fan chills my bare shoulders. It feels good; I lifted the 40-pound weights I keep in the bathroom and trip over every morning and my shoulders ache a bit. I'll be too cold soon, but any attempt to pull the blankets 'round me will disturb Leela. She'll growl coldly, as if she never loved me, and storm away. The only time I see her fierce, or fear her ire.

Watson I can slide around all day. Though the larger of the two, he is far more graceful.  Trusting, too. I cradle him in my arms and gaze lovingly into his eyes.

He tolerates it. It's hard to be adored, I think, without lacking a sense of self.

Can't go around loving people; it makes them realize what they are.