im never going to be able to jot something down thats going to feel like it properly covers how into my fucking dogs i am.
to a further extent im never going to be able to gather up words that i will feel properly convey how fucking wrecked i am right now about my Rosey dying.
We didnt know she was going to pass away before she left to get her eye checked, i would have liked to have said goodbye or something, anything.
its a weekday im supposed to let the dogs on the front lawn and sit on the steps while they wander around in circles and bark at cats and leaves and shit.
Then i get rusty in the house
then i call to Rosey and she ignores me
then i call her again and wave my hand and she will look at me, but not really move.
occasionally shell look away even in the "Fuck you, im old." demeanor that she had honed to a razors edge.
then ill walk down to where she is laying down and ill rub her head and she will get up and walk to the steps and ill follow her and maybe pat her butt if it looks like the steps are a bit much today.
its been cold.
then she will sit down on the porch,and ill have to get her to come into the house and close the door.
George is shook, its really wierd.
whose going to bug me everytime i eat something?
She would put her paw on my leg whenever she wanted attention.
she would poke me to get my attention.
Rosey you were a really good dog and i loved the shit out of you.
ill miss you alot momma.
love you.
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