Watson L. Dog died Thursday morning, Thanksgiving Day, November 26, 2020. That night before we had him up on the bed for his nightly cuddles, just like always. Very early, around 4:30 am, he made noise like he was trying to get up but couldn't. Kelly held him and he quieted down, then he died in her arms. 

I took him to a pet crematorium this morning. Kelly wasn't thrilled by my ossuary idea, so we'll just get his ashes. 

The house is much quieter now. Even with Marceline and the two other pups running around, it's different. Mabel doesn't bark much, and Bun-Bun has yet to do more than whine and growl. 

He was a good dog. I'll miss him. 

I've been surprisingly okay. It's different with him because we'd known about his condition for over a 16 months, and at that time we didn't think he'd make it another full year. Full of surprises, that dog. 

I could weep. I feel it, behind my eyes. I suppose another difference was the practical matters of handling the body once he had died. I placed his body in a couple of plastic bags, and then in a cardboard box. 

The pet crematorium place was pleasant. It was in an older part of Phoenix, which is an odd mix of industrial workplaces and small houses that used to be homes but have since been converted into small businesses. At least I think they've been converted. I'm used the idea of a business looking like it should be part of a strip mall, but I guess that's not a rule or anything. 

I don't feel the need to sum up Watson's life. I've chronicled our adventures in many other places. Perhaps I should try anyway.

Watson was given to me free from HALO Animal Rescue, because he was troublemaker and no one wanted him. He could jump any fence and break free of any kennel, although he was housebroken and good with other dogs, cats, and children. He had probably had a home at some point; when he came to the rescue he was already neutered and in pretty good shape. Probably got out of his original owner's backyard and went on an adventure. 

He also loved to chew. He chewed the shelter wall through his kennel once. 

I was new at the animal shelter, so one of my duties was to exercise the dogs that couldn't be out in the yards with all the other dogs. So I'd take him out and play fetch with him. That dog could run. That was his greyhound part. The chewing was probably his pitbull part. I don't know where he got his smarts, because he was certainly that.

We taught him to say "Mama". We taught him to speak, and we noticed that he'd do this mutter sometimes that wasn't quite a bark or a growl. After he learned how to talk he never shut up because he wanted treats for it. Clever boy.

He chewed up many things. Some of those things he'd chewed and eaten would get stuck in his stomach and need surgical intervention. Three times. 

I'd jokingly take a belt, and swing and snap it menacingly at him. And he would attack me. He wasn't fooled.

He was an excellent cuddler. We'd snuggle all the time. Except that he hated to be sniffed. He'd get real mad if you sniffed his ears. And he'd muzzle-punch you in the face if you didn't heed his growls of warning. 

I'll miss him. I'll see him in dreams though. That will be nice. 

 Scheduled an at-home euthanasia service for Watson L. Dog this Friday afternoon. He doesn't want to eat, barely even wants to bite my face. 

Last night I opened the front door and he laid there staring out through the security screen for a while. Gave me an idea for a puppy porch. Kind of an Arizona room but for the front of the house so the dogs can go outside and see what's going on. That'll keep away them pesky gophers.

It's not really a new idea; people have outside spaces like that for indoor cats. So they can kind of pretend they're outside without the risks.

I was interrupted in my writing by some work. Returning now, on my lunch break, to see what I was rambling about earlier today. 

This is why writing is always referred to in the present tense. There could be universes formed and created in those blank spaces between words and paragraphs.

Oh that's right I was sad about my dog. I was wearing my grief like a snuggie, or its knock-off cousin the slanket. 

My poor pup felt cold last night so I covered him up with a blanket. Marceline went over and slept next to him.

Dog body temperatures are higher than a human's. Normally.

At least he saw the ocean. He did love the ocean. 

Was I going to practice folding time in half today? Or was that tomorrow? Yes it's tomorrow, or 30 years from now really. 

I wonder if he'll live until Friday. He's a stubborn boy. 

I prefer running around barefoot but slippers seem like a good idea. Why filthy up my feet in between my shower and going to bed. Why?

I'll add "fluffy Croc slippers" to my Christmas list. In case I need to run outside for some reason. With dogs that's always a concern, so these things need to be sturdy. Also the puppies love chewing on my existing, non-fluffy Crocs. They've survived Watson's chewing and now the puppy teeth. Mostly survived. Watson did get through one of the straps and I've removed them. 

Today I forgot the pen I keep in my collar. I'll have to keep a little notebook too. That's what I used to do; jot down the fragments of thought, plant them, and see if they sprout. Or rather, I see if they burrow deeper down, like plump little moles, snuffling through the darkness and rooting up hidden revelations and treasured memories. Juicy earthworms of ideas, and other mythological creature metaphors for inspiration. Whatever else moles eat. Ifrit? Pegasusses? (Do not tell me that isn't the plural of Pegasus; I won't hear it.)

Is it the music? Is it the sadness? Is it the not scrolling through my cell phone so much? All of these things? Or maybe...all five?

Future thoughts: The only octopus I ever met (a giant Pacific I fed in Portland) is probably dead. My fingers still smell a tiny bit like the garlic cloves I used to cook pinto beans in the ancient crock pot that Kelly's mom gave us. It was her grandmother's, and it's bad-ass. Allegedly you can roast a whole chicken in the thing because it gets that hot. Probably constructed of ancient metals and legendary ceramics. The rubber probably came from a tree. 

Kelly didn't go for the burying Watson in the yard idea. Or the ossuary. Or the voodoo shrine to summon the elder gods. I assured her they probably wouldn't even show up, the way 2020 is going. They'll gaze upon us from their abyss, see how things are going, and be like "Naw, you good fam."

I'll nod courteously in undiscovered directions, just in case.

 There is one comic on Instagram to which I subscribe that is about friendly characters having pleasant adventures. Like a frog making a bowl of soup, or a mouse learning magic to conjure cheese. A turnip that comes to life and makes friends with everyone. 

Mostly the other comics I follow are not like that.

Time to think about what I want for Christmas. Shelving? Yeah, I think that's it. And a dishwasher. Maybe a new bed frame. 

Bun-Bun keeps sneaking up on the bed at night. I think she gets cold because she snuggles up against me. And then spends ten minutes trying to get comfortable. 

I kick her out eventually, but I appreciate the sentiment.

Speaking of dogs, our usual vet has all sorts of anti-Covid precautions in place so euthanasia will be tricky. Fortunately, this is Arizona and there are at-home pet euthanasia services that will still show up. It's hard to intellectualize the idea, since it's my Watson dog. I am very familiar with the process, and I know it's an incredibly quick process. It's the pentobarbital injection, the dog passes out almost instantly, and then in a minute or two they die. 

The speed was surprising to me the first time I witnessed the process. I expect I'll weep. I should dig a grave tonight. Yeah, I can put mulch and stuff over it. Then when it breaks down, I can put his bones in an ossuary until we figure out his final spot. 

Then we'll make a statue of him. And when you sniff it, it will bite your face. He'd love that.

 Mostly lies, but they're draped on a skeleton of truth.

There are shoes on my feet but they never feel snug enough. I'll find the person who's bringing tomorrow and ask them what they know.

Knock on the door but I already know who's there.

I dreamed I opened my clothes washer and found a mass of tangled string. "That can't be good for the filter," I thought.

There was a woman who said it was just easier to believe in every god.

Two general conflicts: Person wants to change, but can't. Person doesn't want to change, but must. Fold together with wooden spatula in large metal bowl, and season to taste.

I remember carrying my babies and I miss it. 

She stole me with her laugh. 

Blogger has new formatting tools, like "Paragraph" where one swift thump on the Return key adds a space. I turned it off and went back to the old way. 

I formats hows I wants to formats, dang it.

I read a comic called "Sweet Tooth" by Jeff Lemire. Published by Vertigo, those old scamps. I forget how I heard of it, but I remember being intrigued by the premise of a half-boy/half-deer just trying to get by in a world of angry humans. Immediately I hunted for a plot summary and explanation, the "why" of the story. I didn't find it. I ended up buying all the books and reading it. I'm not saying that knowing the central mystery would have changed my enjoyment of the book, but I'm glad I didn't know it.

So if you're out there hunting for the meaning of Sweet Tooth and why children are suddenly being born as half-animal hybrids, I say to you STOP! 

There is a reason, but that's not the story. 

 The music is good. Takes me away from the constant phone-checking. I feel like I check the phone as if there's something in it that I will find satisfying, but there rarely is. Reminds me of checking the fridge over and over. Still the same stuff that was there before. There will be new things when I put in new things.

Music puts in new things. Or at least shuffles around the existing things so when I open the door of my mind the little bulb illuminates things that were always there but I hadn't been noticing. I suppose I could experiment with different types of music. What I'm listening to now is mostly moody and melancholy. Songs about time not existing and going back to the night we met. 

Maybe we met more than once. Many nights, under many moons.

They sing at me and I want to talk to them, to tell them what I think and what's on my mind. This is new. New-ish. When all media became experienced together, like watching a play in a crowded theater. My my my. I know not yet if it's bad or good. I only know that it's different to watch something when it can watch you back. And when you can feel all the other minds processing it. 

Throwing every meaning at it.

 Time is a liar?

I'm icing my foot right now. My heel aches. Inflammation of the plantar fascia. Walking every day. A lot.

I try not to take days off because if I take one day off, I'll take two days off. And so on. 

Watson the dog is eating very little now. Getting very thin. Low energy. Still growls if you sniff him and still enjoys a walk. My boy is getting ready to go.

I took him for walk last night to the big park. It's farther away and I wasn't sure if he was up for it, but he was. I left him off-leash and we roamed around like we used to. It was good. The walk back was very slow.

I always knew he would break my heart. He's not sorry, and neither am I.