Gave myself the day off in honor of William S. Burroughs’ birthday. I can do that, because Mad Dog Media is a one-dog shop. Unsnap the leash and off I go.
It being 60-something and sunny, I broke out Old Reliable, my Reynolds 853 Steelman Eurocross, and rode the trail to Fountain and back. It’s about a two-hour U-turn, if you throw in a few didos on the return leg, like a lap of Monument Valley Park for extra vitamin-D absorption.
A couple largish downed trees this side of Highway 85 require a quick zig and zag; a short pair of run-ups around a washed-out concrete climb follow. Other than that it’s smooth sailing. A guy could do it on a road bike. Not me, though. Not as long as I have five ‘cross bikes taking up space in the garage. Put those fat bastards to work and save the skinny rubber for the streets.
A bit of drama greeted me on my return home. An elderly neighbor needed an assist with her equally aged greyhound, which has been having balance issues and today lost control of its front legs. Being creakily past my own prime I commiserated briefly and then helped load the dog into her car for a trip to the vet. She was expecting bad news and got it. The vet prescribed a dose of steroids, but confessed it was a delaying action, the equivalent of locking up the cantis on a sandy descent. You may slow that long downhill slide but you ain’t gonna stop it.
Upset me, it did, in part because I have a beloved cat — Ike, a.k.a. Chairman Meow — buried in the back yard. I miss any one of my departed animal pals more than all of my deceased relatives. So I showered the grit off and went to Trinity Brewing Company for a couple of IPAs and a bowl of their mac’ and cheese. I’d never been there, and the online reviews were not encouraging, but I was not in the mood for my usual haunts, so I took a chance and it paid off. Good beer — the brewmaster used to whip up the popskull over at Bristol Brewing — and a friendly, attentive staff. Just what the doctor — or, in this case, the vet — ordered.
Mad Blog Media 
Patrick,
Aaah. At my folk’s old place, now gone from the family, we kept a small space for all the family pets. Many many dogs, some hamsters and guinea pig (that spent 4 years in the freezer ’cause we kept forgetting to bury the poor long dead creature).
Wonderful animals all, even the bonkers ones. A simple headstone covered the lot – Good Pets All.
I trust they and the good Chairman are getting along now.
We have buried or spread the ashes of too many of our four legged family members. Especially since Meena tends to have a large family of them at any given time.
Concur with Patrick and Ben on the gravity of those partings. Its tough because barring a run-in with an F-350, most of us outlive our animal companions–over and over again. I still recall burying Paco, my first cat. Just kept digging and digging because I didn’t want to stop. That cat was buried halfway to the Moho.
We’ve got the ashes of two of our long departed pets in small boxes. I don’t have the heart to scatter them. I wouldn’t want to leave them. I still miss them terribly. I write this while our one-eyed cat, Marley, is purring like a generator and stepping all over the desk and keyboard. Our golden retriever, Jake, is asleep at the foot of the bed. I love our little zoo.
That reminds me. I need to clean the fishtank.
I am on dogs three and four. All pugs- better in pairs.
When our first, Astra, had to be euthanized, it was tough. About 9 monthls later, I had a dream about running up to Astra and we had the biggest, best reunion in my life. In the dream, I could even smell her. At that moment, I woke up, and this forty something guy cried for the next two hours…….
The furry little buggers should enjoy eternal life, being without sin. But maybe they’d miss us, if only for our laps.
I shrieked like a banshee when I dug the Chairman’s grave. Two of a kind we were. She was never a big fan of humans, and I had never been particularly fond of cats, yet we became great pals. Now I’m the one who lets Turkish and Mia stake out inconvenient spots in the bed, while Herself — who grew up with cats and knows their ways — is inclined to confine them to the basement for the sake of a good night’s sleep, free of grooming, territorial disputes and the occasional stroll across one’s head in search of a sip from a water glass, though full cat bowls abound.
I believe we are all better people for being in the company of our furry friends. It is incredibly hard when they leave us, but I would never have a life without them.
Animal lover George Carlin put it best in “40 Years of Comedy” — “You’re supposed to know it in the pet shop. It’s going to end badly. You’re purchasing a little tragedy.”
speaking of George Carlin I just saw PBS where George was given the Mark Twain award, man the guy could sing ” Cherry Pie”,
By the way I always wanted a Chairman Meow jersey