A Broken Heart Isn't Always a Tragedy

I grew up loving "Peanuts." I just really enjoyed the characters. I sort of related to Charlie Brown's toiling fruitlessly on the baseball diamond, I liked how Linus would wax philosophical between sucking his thumb, it cracked me up how Marcie called Peppermint Patty "sir," and I admired Schroder's Beethoven-wannabe piano chops.

More than anything else, I loved Snoopy. I thought he was the coolest dog ever. He hunted the Red Baron on his Sopwith Camel, he stalked the desert as a vulture, paraded around as a penguin, and excelled at baseball. Even with his amazing talents, he was still very much a dog: He was Charlie's loyal friend¹, he loved to get the blanket, and he would sometimes curl up with Charlie at night when he went to bed. For all of his losing characteristic, I still thought Charlie Brown had the best life of them all because he still had Snoopy.

As I've written before, I love dogs. I think they're the perfect non-human companion. You know movies like "My Dog Skip"? I never really dug them, but I envied the relationship between the boy and the dog, his closest friend. What else could a boy really want? I was jealous of the people that had that.

Our family had a dog, and I loved her very much. However, she wasn't "my" dog. I always felt that distinction. I always wanted my dog, one that came to me first and considered me his true friend. Because I enjoyed "Peanuts" so, I wanted to get a male beagle and name him Snoopy.

I tend to fight loneliness in my little corner of Athens², and I have more than once wanted to have a canine friend to live with me. What really held me back was money; I didn't feel that I had enough of it to properly support a furry pal. I certainly had the desire and willingness.

My hand was somewhat forced when a coworker said she found a dog chained to her front porch one day. It was a beagle, and she was trying to find a home for it. It essentially came down to me or taking the dog to the pound³. I figured I might as well give it a try. The dog- a girl, as it turned out- was either a stray or abandoned. We figured she was a couple years old and had been taken care of for at least some period of time⁴.

So I picked her up and brought her back to my place. She didn't have any tags or any sign of ownership save for a collar on her neck. There was no way to tell if she had been fixed or had her shots. We didn't know her name, and she was going to be mine, so I named her Lucy⁵.

And she was an absolute sweetheart. She loved to give face kisses and hop in my lap and just chill. She's also an absolute fireball: It was nearly impossible to get her to calm down and relax. I know young dogs have a lot of energy, but she did not take well to being inside. And being inside alone? She couldn't handle it. She would start freaking out within five seconds. And no matter how little time I spent outside without her, as soon as she came back in, she would leap on me and look at me with a "I didn't think you'd come back!" mood in her eyes⁶.

When I was getting ready for bed, though, she sensed it and would wait for me on my bed. This was, in every sense of the word, a dream come true for me. I have very little experience sleeping with another person in bed with me⁷, so to have a dog curled up beside me was very special. I always wanted to have a dog that wanted to sleep on the bed with me. I just thought it would be the coolest thing ever, and it pretty much was.

The main problem was when Steve and I left for work for the day. She absolutely tore the apartment apart. My DVD remote, various boxes, some of my bedding... it was all destroyed. She somehow managed to open up my book bag and shred some of the contents inside. I had a couple razors in there, so that was a scary moment.

She lives to be outside. I don't think she ever willingly went back in; we always had to guide her through the door. She was an outside dog for sure.

And it was that, really, that was the tipping point. I really liked Lucy, but she was just too much. Because she was older, she was harder to try to train, and I didn't think she would ever be an indoor dog. We weren't going to be around during the day enough to let her outside so that she would not turn the apartment into a fallout zone.

It really broke my heart. Lucy, as I said, is an absolute sweetheart, which made it that much harder to let go, but I had to. It was ultimately the best thing for both of us. Thankfully, a rescue organization was able to find a home for her. I've been told she's in Canada(!) now, which is really the perfect place for her. I miss her, but I know she's happy.

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1 Even while tormenting him the way only a dog can.

2 Especially lately, when it seems like none of my friends are single.

3 Taking a dog to the pound in Athens is tantamount to a death sentence.

4 One sign: Her nails were trimmed.

5 Yes, Lucy Van Pelt.

6 It led me to believe that she was abandoned. She never seemed to figure out that, yes, I was going to come back.

7 No, I'm not counting the times I shared a bed with my sister when we stayed in hotels.

Not Cursing the Snow

The snow storms we had a while back reminded me of something: How much I hate snow. But a coworker mentioned something that made me think of you¹.

I remember when we would get a foot or so and the ground would be covered in pure, untouched snow. I think that was your favorite thing in the world. You couldn't wait to get out there. Normally, when you were outside, you needed something to do² if you weren't just laying down. But in the snow? Oh, man, you went nuts. You would leap around, duck your head in it, throw it around. You would run and run and run and play until you couldn't move anymore... and then you did it some more. When you came in, you didn't even bother getting the snow off of you. You just let itstay there, as if you didn't want it to leave.

Remembering that, I guess the snow wasn't so bad after all.

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1 You know, other than whenever I look at my phone.

2 Frisbee or tennis ball, which you would demand to be thrown forever, not seeming to care how much freaking slobber you put on it.

Fond Remembrance

I know you can't read this, because you're dead. I'm going to type it anyway.

I still miss you. Terribly. I think of you all the time, and I don't believe that will ever change. When you left, that changed my life forever, and it's a hole I'm never going to be able to fill. I loved you more than I've ever loved anyone else, including myself. Indeed, I loved you more than I thought I ever could. I hope you think I didn't take you for granted. I hope I knew how good things were when you were around.

When I visit the place you used to live, I still expect you to be there. That will probably happen until I stop visiting that place. It's not the same without you. It seems... cold there. Almost lifeless.

You saved my life. I hope you know that. When I was in my darkest place, where I couldn't even imagine the sun or the light, or even the divine, you were there. If you weren't, I probably would be dead now. And whenever I needed you, you just knew. You were there. I didn't even have to ask.

I will, one day, try to fill this void in my heart. I have to. But it won't be the same, and it won't be you. So whoever tries will ultimately fail.

I miss you. I love you. Forever.

Close Your Eyes and Say Good Night

So I think Nate is getting tired of me destroying him in Smash Bros. I don't even remember the last time he's won a game. Speaking of games, I've been playing Betrayal at the House on the Hill, which is a lot of fun. Basically, it's a board game in which 3-6 players are exploring the neighborhood haunted house. The twist is that one of the party is a traitor. At some point the game, the traitor is revealed along with his plan. The traitor tries to accomplish whatever goals s/he has and the heroes try to stop him. You don't know who the traitor is or what the scenario is in advance; it's all random. Good fun for a group, and just about anyone can enjoy it.

Basketball plays Kent Sunday at 2. As it turns out, Kent chose their home MAC opener for their "let's try and sell out the gym" promotion, so it looks like the Bobcats are going to be playing in front of a full house on the road. Ohio hasn't played well at the M.A.C. Center recently, so I'm not too optimistic on this one.
On a vaguely related note, I owe a friend of mine a high-five and jealousy because he achieved the Impossible Dream, dating a volleyball player. I'm pretty sure his life is more awesome than mine now.

At the moment, I'm listening to "Story of a Girl" by Nine Days and it makes me feel good and sad at the same time. I'm weird.

Met Emma's boyfriend, Noah, today. Nice guy. We seem to have a lot in common, so we've gotten along pretty well. They seem pretty good for each other. Hope they are; she deserves a break to go her way.
A quick thought about relationship-esque things: I'm pretty sure TV and movies are to blame for this, but I realized at some point in the recent past that I'm terrified to do anything physical with women. I'm completely convinced that they don't to be touched, don't like to be kissed, don't want to have sex... none of that. Yes, it's insane, but whenever I'm trying to touch, kiss, whatever, I'm always thinking she doesn't want to, that only guys like this and girls just want to... talk or something. On a related note, I always like it 500% more when a girl is the one to initiate a hand holding or whatever. I'm pretty sure Shasta likes it when I pet her, though. So I do it a lot.

Anyone who's known me a while knows that for whatever reason, my roommates typically don't stick around for a while. Well, I have one that doesn't look like he's leaving anytime soon... and I can't stand him. He's a slob, he's dirty, and he doesn't do anything. The other day, he was smelling the room up so bad that I had to leave. And this is even with an Air Wick and employing Febreeze. He doesn't put his dirty clothes in a hamper or bag or anything; instead, he throws it all into one giant pile. Mind you, he has a clothing bag or two, but they've been incorporated into the giant pile. He moves it from his bed to his chair depending on which he's using. He's been sleeping in until about 6 p.m. He doesn't go anywhere, doesn't talk to anyone, just sits at his computer and does... whatever all day. Seriously. He doesn't move. Nobody other than his twin brother has ever come to visit him. I mean, is he even alive? Oy.

But hey, it's not all doom and gloom. The Australian Open starts on Sunday! And here is a very cool game that I discovered at random a little bit ago; it got Cheryl Sadler completely hooked.
Food for thought: Is Christianity in America a lie? Honestly, I think it is. A former professor once put forth the theory that there are two Christianities, a religious Christianity and a social Christianity. The people that belong to the latter don't really know or really care about the tenants and lifestyle of the faith, but use it as a rallying point for whatever it is they want to accomplish (see: gay marriage). The Religious Right is a pretty good example of this. Is their mission religious or political? It's hard to argue in earnest that it's God directing them when a lot of what they do flies in the face of the teachings of Jesus.

And I can't remember if I mentioned this, but some jerk has been stealing markers or breaking the tips off them from my whiteboard. Honestly, who does that? Why? It's not funny. I don't get people. If you have a problem with me, just come to me. I'd like to think I'm reasonable.