Just a dog
Grief. It causes otherwise normal—well, normalish in my case—people to feel and act, well, not so normal. The other day, I actually thought to myself that I should have had you taxidermied. (Can "taxidermy" be a verb? I don't think so. I guess I could have said "stuffed," but that sounds weird, right?) I was thinking about how it felt to pet your head. Your bony little schnauzer head, with your sweet little asymmetrical ears that some asshole cropped—probably without using anesthesia—when you were only a few weeks old. I don't want to forget how that feels, Jack. I always want to remember how it felt to pet your head, your ears, your cute little schnauzer butt with the nubby tail. (Again, docked by some asshole before you came into my life.) I want to remember you...all of you. I don't want to forget. Of course, I would never get you "taxidermied," but, the fact that the thought even crossed my mind proves to me that I'm no longer norma