June 04, 2013|
The new dog is well-behaved and doesn't howl at sirens.
It seems pretty obvious that once you lose someone, you'll miss even the things that annoyed you about them. Because those things aren't a reminder of how annoyed you were; they're reminders of loss.
I even heard before the husky died, on the radio, a teenage girl talking about how when she was going to leave her camp, she would miss the long bathroom lines, and things like that.
But it still never occurred to me. Maybe someday I will miss the way my dad babbles endlessly on the phone, repeating points, being annoying. Maybe I'll miss my mom through the absence of her habits that annoy me.
I danced with a girl I stalked once. She approached me. That was exciting. Bondage belt and animal print. My tattooed goth didn't seem mad with me for it. I'm going to see her Friday for beach and Deus Ex.
There is too much to the people in our lives to let the things that annoy us about them define them for us. Too much to the animals, too.
At the end of my run, I walked down hill, holding his dangerous animal tag, and it felt like he was walking alongside me, and I kind of chastised myself for this ritual of delusion, but I wish on some level that it's not a delusion, that the spirits of our friends stay with us, and I suppose I'm glad not to know if that's it.