Please Stop Telling Me About Your Dead Dog
Gabrielle Griffis
Everyone has a dead dog story. Don't tell anyone you have a puppy.
"My dog is at the other end of the spectrum. I'm waiting for her to tell me it's time," they say.
They will give you a run-down of every dog they've ever owned, starting with Mr. Sniffy and ending with Sir Patrick. They will tell you either they loved their dog or they resented the loss of freedom from tethering their mind to the care of a canine, or both. They will say no more spontaneous traveling, or medical bills are costly. You will wonder why no one gives useful advice such as avoid said-medication or giardia will pass.
~ ~ ~
Everyone is falling apart. Loose teeth and canes float in the air. Everyone is too old to care for their dogs. You get a puppy to make you happy and instead get filled with stories of loss and tragedy. You seek love and fulfillment, companionship and friendship. You get dead dog stories. They start following you around. The skeletons of dead dogs, the ghost bones. They won't stop barking. You dream of dead dogs. The different breeds add up. Hounds, huskies, spaniels, beagles, mastiffs, terriers...they gnaw on femurs and ulnas they found in cemeteries.
~ ~ ~
Bichons wander the streets looking for deceased masters. They levitate over scrub pines searching with inky black eyes. The wind becomes dog whines. Birds sail on the whimpers of poodles. Inconvenient passage to the other side is discussed. The pounds are full of pitbulls. A game show host implores people to spay and neuter their pets. People argue over who is responsible for all the unwanted animals. Your relatives send you articles about animal ethics. Their intent: moral culpability, guilt, shame. You are not responsible for the universe. The universe is responsible for you. You pet your dog and throw back a glass of wine.
~ ~ ~
Time will split in three: before dog, after dog, and after after dog. You will rid your house of toxic plants. You will be imbued with the superpower of scaring people off with dog stories. They will say, “I’m not really a pet person,” and run away. You will go to pet stores, full of people who love their dogs. It's a universe you never knew existed, a reality running parallel to yours -- and you are suddenly a different person, a person with a dog, and dead dog stories, and a cavalcade of ghosts following you around, howling at your footsteps.
Gabrielle Griffis
Everyone has a dead dog story. Don't tell anyone you have a puppy.
"My dog is at the other end of the spectrum. I'm waiting for her to tell me it's time," they say.
They will give you a run-down of every dog they've ever owned, starting with Mr. Sniffy and ending with Sir Patrick. They will tell you either they loved their dog or they resented the loss of freedom from tethering their mind to the care of a canine, or both. They will say no more spontaneous traveling, or medical bills are costly. You will wonder why no one gives useful advice such as avoid said-medication or giardia will pass.
~ ~ ~
Everyone is falling apart. Loose teeth and canes float in the air. Everyone is too old to care for their dogs. You get a puppy to make you happy and instead get filled with stories of loss and tragedy. You seek love and fulfillment, companionship and friendship. You get dead dog stories. They start following you around. The skeletons of dead dogs, the ghost bones. They won't stop barking. You dream of dead dogs. The different breeds add up. Hounds, huskies, spaniels, beagles, mastiffs, terriers...they gnaw on femurs and ulnas they found in cemeteries.
~ ~ ~
Bichons wander the streets looking for deceased masters. They levitate over scrub pines searching with inky black eyes. The wind becomes dog whines. Birds sail on the whimpers of poodles. Inconvenient passage to the other side is discussed. The pounds are full of pitbulls. A game show host implores people to spay and neuter their pets. People argue over who is responsible for all the unwanted animals. Your relatives send you articles about animal ethics. Their intent: moral culpability, guilt, shame. You are not responsible for the universe. The universe is responsible for you. You pet your dog and throw back a glass of wine.
~ ~ ~
Time will split in three: before dog, after dog, and after after dog. You will rid your house of toxic plants. You will be imbued with the superpower of scaring people off with dog stories. They will say, “I’m not really a pet person,” and run away. You will go to pet stores, full of people who love their dogs. It's a universe you never knew existed, a reality running parallel to yours -- and you are suddenly a different person, a person with a dog, and dead dog stories, and a cavalcade of ghosts following you around, howling at your footsteps.