Oh and here's one last rerun

This is something I wrote back in April when i first had to think about losing my dog, Buddy. He passed away on August 27th, so I still got to enjoy a good four months with him before he moved on. What's most remarkable about the two weeks since then is how the behavior in my other dogs has changed. While Lucy and Sally used to bicker, they now stick together as if they are afraid they're next or realize they don't need to fight or something. It's been pretty cool to watch actually. They are almost mourning his loss while being less grumpy in general. While it's never good to lose a dog you've had for over 13 years, I'm glad we didn't make Buddy have to suffer for very long and I'm glad he didn't have to go on while losing most of his senses. I will never forget you, Buddy, and you will always be dear to my heart. What follows is what I wrote back in April.

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This isn't something I want to write but I feel like it's something I have to write.

I've always had dogs. Everyone in my family has. The first dogs I remember having are Suzy, a schnauzer, and Dolly, a... well we'll just say a mutt. I didn't get to experience the primes of these dogs lives. Suzy was basically crippled for my entire memory of her, though she did somehow manage to drag herself across a busy street and survive, my lasting memory of her. Suzy died sometime in my early school years, before I moved to my current house during Kindergarten I believe. She was the mother of the most beloved dogs I can remember of my grandma's Cricket. My grandparents loved him and seeing him whenever we went over to their house is one of my earliest memories. How he always knew that 5 was dinner time.

Dolly was my mom's favorite dog ever. I've always heard stories about how smart she was as a puppy. When my parents lived in California, she would find frogs in the backyard, pick them up by their feet and sling them across the yard. My mom always knew she could count on Dolly. Unfortunately, my memories of her are as a mean, grumpy dog whose senses had gone. She died sometimes in late elementary school but she lived to be almost 20. I was mildly afraid of Dolly, mainly because a single digit boy wasn't the best friend of an old dog with limited senses. But I was sad when she died because I knew how much she meant, and still means to my mom, and wished I had gotten to see her in her youth.

My brothers had Sofie and Molly, two Labradors, one mean and black, the other nice and golden. (I may have the colors mixed up). I remember going down to my brother's house in Lacey and playing with Molly. I remember once when Molly had the lampshade device on her and that was my first exposure to that piece of canine misfortune. I thought they used an actual lampshade for the longest time.

I remember hearing about the dogs my dad had as a kid. Scamp is the one that comes most to mind, though I think my dad was grown by that point. Apparently Scamp would jump from my grandparents' boat into Lake Union and not die, something I found amazing from such a small dog, and from hearing about it at such a young age.

I tell you of all these dogs from my early childhood or even before I was born because some of my most distinct memories from my young days are those of interacting with dogs. From putting the blanket over Dolly in order to pick her up and have her on my lap and keep her from biting me to discovering the Chow that came with our house for some reason. While not all my experiences are necessary pleasant, I really do look back on all of them fondly.

The first dog I had of my own, which was post-Buddy, was Patches, an Australian Shepherd. She was such an energetic dog and just loved to play. Her tail was called Godzilla because it was so damn huge and could knock everything off the table. She quickly was able to leap the fence in our yard and was one of the biggest reasons for us installing a wooden fence. Unfortunately, Patches grew too big. Our yard wasn't big enough to hold her and my mom was allergic to her constantly shedding fur. We gave her away to a family who had a bigger yard and I hope she's living/lived a full, happy life. Of course, at age 8 or 9 when we had to give her up, I was devastated. But I think it was important for me to understand that having a dog that big wasn't appropriate, either for us or the dog, and it was better to find a better environment for her.

The next dog I had of my own was Suki. She was also a Schnauzer. She was the first non-Patches dog who actually responded to me. I believe she was an adopted dog. I loved that dog to death. But, in the Great Bathroom Remodel of 1999(?), our dumbass contractor (installer? I don't know what you call that person) left the door open and off ran Suki, never to be seen again. I'm still sad about it to this day. I don't know what happened to her at all. I'm hoping she didn't die soon thereafter but we never heard anything about it. I suppose it's possible that my parents knew and didn't want to tell me because I was a youngin, but that still pisses me off. Never have Blair do anything home improvement wise for you ever. I don't care if it's a different Blair.

Many of you reading this may have never had a dog and don't understand how one could form a bond with an animal. But dogs are always there for you, no matter what you may have done. They are attention whores, sure, but really, who can get pissed off at something that just wants to be petted constantly? Even through all the changes in my life, I've always had a dog there to cheer me up. They know when you're down, even though I don't know how. This entire paragraph sounds cliche but it's completely true.

This brings me to Buddy. We got Buddy for free from a trailer in Gold Bar when we saw an ad for him in the newspaper. His first year in the world was torturous. He was called Munchkin for God's sake. (note: sorry if your dog's name is Munchkin) For years, Buddy was afraid of being covered with a blanket (which may be a normal dog thing but he seems particularly scared of it), presumably because the hell-child who owned him previously used that as some sort of torture device. I imagine his previous owner as being Sid from Toy Story. I remember going to get Buddy. It was around April of 1997. We had just moved into our house. The trip to Gold Bar was unfathomably long for a 6 year old, so I had my parents drop me off at my grandparents' house in Kirkland on the way. I'm glad I didn't have to see Buddy's original house, as it would make me too angry today to actually see it.

Anyway, when my parents came back with him, we gave him what I'm fairly certain was his first ever bath in my grandparents' front yard. This is my earliest memory of Buddy, and really one of my earliest clear memories. Spry, young Buddy was quite the entertaining Scottish Terrier to be honest. He always would try to catch flies in his mouth (something my other, younger Scottie has inherited), though I don't think he ever actually caught one. It was the adorability of his persistence that made it for me.

Our neighbor to the back of us had a variety of lawn ornaments. One of them was the ubiquitous lawn gnome. This was and probably still is Buddy's arch-nemesis. He would go out there and bark at it for hours. It's dumb because, good lord Buddy, that thing has never moved. But really, you can't fault him at all. There was also the fact that Buddy would take one of my former dogs, Patches, toys and put them just out of reach of her tether outside. He was an asshole about it but it's still fantastic.

The most memorable single thing Buddy did was lock my dad out of his car. My dad went in to Fred Meyer for a quick minute and left the keys in the car. Buddy, being in the car because the car is like heaven for dogs (it wasn't hot, don't worry), loved to sit on my dad's left side when he would drive, or on the driver's seat itself with no human occupying it. He had always put his front feet on the door of the car where the window controls were and, well, you see what happened. My brother had to drive up and unlock the car for my dad. You want to get pissed off at him but, c'mon. How can you?

Buddy has been around for most of my life and essentially all of my academic life. I always remember being there. Whether he wanted to be up on the chair while we watched TV or he got so, so excited at the possibility of a walk, he was always a joy to have there. Unfortunately, as all dogs do, Buddy has lost his youthful exuberance. Whereas he used to be able to jump 3 feet straight in the air, (but maybe 9 inches forward) his feet barely leave the ground anymore. He has essentially lost his sight and hearing. Over the last few years, it has been sad to see Buddy after remembering how he was. But the enduring thing about him is that he's always been so nice. I don't think Buddy has ever bitten anyone ever or even growled at anyone (besides those who dared ring his doorbell or walk by his backyard. But that's a territorial thing that comes from being a dog.) Whereas my other dogs haven't always been the nicest to people or even other dogs, Buddy has always been so gentle and kind.

While Buddy is still alive and it's not a real surprise he's reaching his end, it still hurts to see it happen. It makes me realize that I've taken him for granted, as cliched as that sounds. I mean, he's always been there. I can't help but feel I haven't appreciated him enough. I wish my most clear memories of him weren't his decrepit current state. But after thinking about it, I realize that I've always loved Buddy and don't want to see him go. All the good memories I have of him as a pup.

This is what's hard about owning a dog. They live a comparatively short life, so it's almost guaranteed that if you own one, it will die or run away in your life time. In many ways the long life of a dog is bittersweet. You get more time with the dog, but you also have to see their modern-day-Griffey-esque fading years. We don't want the dog to suffer more than we have to but it's always so hard to let go. Even though I have two other dogs still, their personalities are completely different from Buddy's.

I guess all I can really say at this point is that I'm glad to have been able to experience the time with Buddy that I did. His presence throughout my childhood is something I'll never forget. Even though I never thought of him as "my dog" (he's my dad's dog, clearly), He's always been there. And for that I'm glad. Even though it's not quite time to say goodbye yet, Buddy, thank you for always being there. I hope you've enjoyed it as much as I have.

Ah, summer

No, blog, I haven't forgotten about you. I've just had extended writer's block and been busy having an amazing summer.My lack of posts may or may not coincide with an introduction of a new segment of my life that has kept me busy. I'm definitely not looking forward to summer ending and having non-work responsibilities. I feel like there was more that I wanted to do this summer that I couldn't get done. In June, summer feels endless but in September, it can't feel any shorter. I didn't spend as much time with friends as I wanted to. I never picked cherries with Alyana or went to a Mariners game with Shun or went to Canada with any of my underage-in-America buddies. I hardly hung out with my favorite Jew. But when I look back on it, I never really felt all that bored. I always had something to do or someone to see, whether it was work or a random meeting with friends or hanging out with my family.

But now I have a smidge over a week left at work and living in Kent. Will I miss work? Miss is a strong word but there are certain aspects I'll miss. The money. Some of the people. Starting to actually work in a part of the store I like. Will I miss Kent? I love the ability to park places for free/without hassle and I will miss easy access to the people I care about most. But there is a certain element of freedom that will come from being back in school. Maybe this will be the year that I actually am a good student and don't just coast by on my intelligence. Maybe I will be more outgoing and make more than a few close friends. I look forward to the new things I will learn this year and hopefully learning whether I actually want to go into business or not. And it will be nice to have people to hang out with just a few doors down from me and not miles away and accessible only by horseless carriage.

So, summer 2010, I will never forget you. You brought me much joy and a little bit of trouble (sorry concrete barrier and Camry! Bye Buddy). And to those who I didn't have a chance to do as much as I wanted to this summer, I did want to and still do want to. I just took the amount of time I would have to do so for granted and didn't embrace the opportunity. But there will be other chances, even once school begins. I hope to have my friends last all year and not just have summer friends and have college friends.