About My Death.

Hi! Long time no write. We have a different sense of time up here (we move very fast) so a few minutes to us is years to you.)
Anyway Mrs. Stillman wrote a piece about when I died so I thought I would share with you. Here it is:

Christmas 

I hated the new apartment. It was so small it could’ve fit into the living room of the big beautiful house I had just sold. The rooms were tiny, too tiny for an art studio. I’m an artist but I couldn’t paint there. I felt I couldn’t do anything there. My future looked empty. I had lost everything, my savings, my career, my dog.  I was lost.   I was defeated. 

I decided to adopt another dog, friends told me that would help. I adopted Libby who had been rescued from a terrible puppy mill.  She couldn’t speak or bark. The mill had destroyed her vocal chords on purpose. That’s what they do.  But Libby could think, and love, and make me smile. Libby wanted to write about her life

as an unpaid worker, breeding, in a puppy mill. So, I channeled her thoughts for her and we made a puppy log blog called a Plog.

. She wrote silly poetry, something I would never dare do, and she drew pictures to illustrate her stories. They were pretty good for a dog, nothing like my pictures. She invented recipes for cat pie and squirrel cake. And as we collaborated, Libby taught me things about me that I never knew.  Libby made me live again.

One Christmas eve, after a few happy years of living and working together, we were hanging out on the living room sofa watching the snow fall through the glow under the streetlights I noticed that Libby seemed to be breathing pretty fast.it worried me but I told myself, she’s just panting like she often does. I didn’t want to leave the warm, comfy place we were in. And it looked so cold out there. So, I told myself it would be okay. I thought her breathing was slowing down as we drifted off to sleep, right there on the soft pillows of the sofa.

On Christmas morning the snow was coming down much harder. Poor Libby was breathing very fast. I knew should have called last night, but it was so cold out and we were so cozy. But I should have called. I should have. I grabbed the phone and called Cornell Veterinary School:




“Is this an emergency?

On holidays we only take emergencies.”

“I think so. My dog is breathing very fast.”

“I see. That could be very serious.  Bring her in right away.”

  

I bundled her up in baby blankets and made my way through the snow up the long hill to Cornell.  They took her in immediately. I called after them, "she wasn’t this bad last night." The doors swung shut behind them. I waited. 




When they asked me in for consultation, they talked and talked in euphemistic circles about possible actions to take before finally saying to me what I already realized.

"It would be very hard on her to go through all that."

"I know."

"The best thing would be to....”

“Yes, yes, I understand. Can I just see her one last time?”

“Her lungs are filled with fluid. It’s probably lung cancer

We put her in an oxygen tent and gave her morphine to make     her more comfortable, She is heavily drugged, but I will bring  her out.”

I waited in the tiny featureless examination room for my Libby. When I held her in my arms her head lolled back, her tongue hung out, and her eyes were blank. She didn't know me. It hurt me so much that I gave her back right away. Much too soon,

What could I do with her? I knew I couldn't bury her in the frozen ground, so I made a quick decision to escape my pain. I told them to keep her. They carried her away. My life went with her. I walked through the cinderblock corridors, down the antiseptic halls, past the empty waiting room, and out into the cold lonely snow. I left the hospital without my baby, my muse, my inspiration, alone.




Of all the deaths that I have endured; my mom, my dad, others.   Libby's was the worst, the hardest to accept, the one loaded with ifs and guilt. The one I still feel, physically, in my stomach, my throat, my shoulders, my heart.

Libby’s is the one I still feel. The only one.

Looking Down

 Looking down lately, I noticed that Mrs.Stillman seemed to need me pretty bad. 

So I have decided to continue my plog once in a while (because that stupid sweetie doesn’t seem to know how to even write a simple dogtence).

Okay so as U know Mrs. Stillman and I do not believe in god. . But, , I’m up here right? And there are oodles of poodles around here with me sniffin all over for one. But we don’t see nuthin. There is however a very very big Dog up here. His name is Uranus. Boy is he gassy! We can’t get within ten thousand miles of him without whoosh! Phew!

Unfortunately, that’s all we have found so far. I dunno, maybe in another heaven…but I have my doubts.

Now then,  Hi Mrs. Stillman! I hear you’ve been worried about C.  But, today you got some very hopeful news. Don’t get a big head and go smokin all over the place. Just get fat. It’s better on your lungs….maybe.

I mean I didn’t smoke but I died of lung canc… no come to think of it, I didn’t. I died of metastasized breast cancer. So don’t get any breasts if U can help it. And whatever you do, don’t let them smoke!

On a lighter note, ha ha, get it Mrs. Stillman? How many dogs fit on the head of an angel? NONE! ROTFLMAO!  I am a naughty girl. I admit it. Oh yeah, how’s the (ugh) cat? We have cat pie up here all the time!

I'm gonna fly down to PA. now. I hear ATTT is havin a garage sale! I just love those. There are so many feet to sniff!

So anyway, don’t worry, Mrs. Stillman I’m watchin ya! And I won’t let you down (again).

Love Libby

PS will you please housebreak that idiot daughter of yours? She is 42 human years old for dog’s sake.

PPS Stop and smell the dog poop!

SAD BREEDER'S DAY

BREEDERS' DAYAs u know Libby has gone over the rainb…..Oh crap! She died for Dog’s sake. So I am going to take over her plog. I am new at this, and I don’t draw as well. See?

But, I am much more intelligent. 

Maybe. It s hard to tell because in the mill I was so miserable, living in that dark wire cage, stuck in a garden shed my whole life that my intelligence got pushed out of my head all the way down to my toes.

 Now that I live with Mrs. s Myers I am slowly pulling it back up, but it is not easy. Also I make a lot of typos because there was no typing class in the puppy mill (or anything else)

         One of the reasons I am writing today is in sympathy for all those mothers out there who are still stuck in puppy mills. Libby and I were mothers there too. I know how bad that can be. So:

“Sad” Breeders’ Day every one. 

Okay:          Welcome back to our plog .  Here goes.

Ahem. I am a rescue from a terrible puppy mill in PA. I can t tell where sounds come from because I am deaf in my right ear. Probably someone hit me or blew a dog whistle in it or something. That is probably why when I hear a high-pitched noise I shake like crazy for a while until nothing else happens or Mrs. s Myers calms me down.

 It sure was hell at breakfast because her cereal spoon kept hitting the bowl and I freaked. Today she switched to a plastic bowl and spoon and it was much quieter. Thank Dog.

BTW, I do not call her Mom, because she is not a mom and besides: “If it walks like a human and it talks like a human it probably IS a human.” And in case you haven’t noticed, I am a DOG. Now genetically, for her to be my mother would be impossible (See? I am smarter than Libby).

In fact, maybe Libby died to do me a favor. Because, now that I get more attention my intelligence has risen all the way up to my knees.  Hmmmmm.  Now about that cat who lives here….. ha ha.

Once again, “Sad” Breeders’ Day every one.   I will let you know when I write again.

Love and Licks,

Thweetie, (ha ha, just kidding)

Sweetie

FLYING POODLE

Today while we were outside choosing a good spot on our neighbor's lawn to pee,a couple of greyhounds walked by. They were beautiful but so big!  We felt scared until we saw that they were each on a  leash attached to a hand. We stared in awe as the hand’s owner said with a smile, “Rescues! They’re rescues. Don’t worry. They’re all right now.” greyhounds@adoptastar.org  Then the three of them revved up their legs and zoomed out of sight. 

Sweetie looked down at her own long legs and thought,

 “Is that what these are for?” You see, just like me Sweetie was imprisoned  in a wire cage for her whole life churning out babies for some greedy Puppy Mill. So she never had a chance to use them.

Well,  today was her awakening.  She said “Maybe legs are for getting places fast.  Just like those greyhounds.  Like…  what if I wanna pee on that bush way down the street And I have to pee really bad?  Hmmmmm.”

 At first she started to trot, like it didn’t matter to her anyway.  She pranced with her head high, just like show pony.  But then, whoosh!  She took off!  She pushed her head forward as her body got low. She was almost flying. Her feet hardly touched the ground. Her long ears flew back in her wake.

Mrs. Stillman yelled frantically,  “Sweetie, come back!”  Sweetie stopped, turned around, and kept running,  all the way back to us.  But she kept going so fast I could feel the wind as she went by.  She ran all the way down to the other corner and turned to look at us. Then she flew back the same way, and kept going by us again!  I could almost feel her heart pounding with joy.

Mrs. Stillman was laughing now,  yelling “RUN SWEETIE RUN, RUN!”  We stood in amazement as we watched her leap and bound and fly around us.

 Finally, with her tongue hanging out the side of her mouth, and a big grin on her face she flopped down at our feet. “So that’s what they’re for” she panted.  Mrs.  Stillman picked her up, laughing and crying.  “Wudda dog!” she said.  Then we all went into the house for a celebratory dog bone.

I said to Sweetie.  “Chomp, chomp.  Down with those mother f’’in Puppy Mills.” And she chewed,  “You are so right sister!  Kill those bastards!”  (Yes, dogs do curse when it is appropriate).  Together,  all three of us said, “Damnation to the puppy mill owners*, and even all the dog track owners.” 

 And then Mrs. Stillman yelled  “And to all the Jets too!” 

* https://www.petfinder.com
* http://cayugadogrescue.org/Adopt.php
  http://gorgesgreyhounds.org/index.shtml