Warning: This will be my most personal post in the history of my blogging life.

I can’t think of a crappier Labour Day Weekend in existence. I disgraced myself by being a drunken bum, and now boys think I’m crazy ( I am, but they didn’t need to know that). I find out on Sunday that Friday night my dog, Beauty, died. And then JagerBomb leaves for eight months and I miss her like something fierce. I haven’t slept since Friday and I’ve been drunk for just as long.

Anyway, my poor little doggy. She went quickly, in her sleep. She was fourteen years old. Dad came home from work on Friday and found her lying in the rain, and when he tried to move her she could not do so. He wrapped her in a yellow blanket and brought her inside to rest. She was having trouble breathing and she could no longer climb our stairs. Then, on Saturday morning, she was found dead.

I’ve been grieving randomly and absurdly, I can’t remember being so extremely distraught over a pet. She was such an important link to my childhood and a terrific, polite dog. The last of Lady’s puppies. The first book series I ever wrote was titled “The Adventures of Lady and Beauty.” I wish I could have been there for her in her final moments. I hope she’s in doggy heaven with Lady.

So tonight I’m recuperating at home with Fat Molly, watching America’s Got Talent and drinking a whiskey with flat Sprite. Sleep cometh.

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