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The cranky thread


Hermit

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My dog is a 13 years old, a wonderful mostly lab (1/4 beagle) who has been a delight to me. She's gone somewhat deaf, and is a shadow to me when I walk around.

 

And today we learn from the vet she may have lymphoma or something. A biopsy was taken. I'll know in three days or so.  Given her age, an operation of any sort would likely be a death sentence so I fear if its positive, there won't be much we can do.

 

She's had a long full life, and been a better dog in many ways than I deserve. I had braced myself, I thought, to deal with the fact she would not be with me for many more years.  And yet I'm feeling stunned and shaken at this news. It maybe the biopsy will come back with goodnews, and I'm shaken by nothing.

 

Let's hope.

But if the worse happens, I have no intention of letting her suffer either.

Good luck.

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So there's a few criticisms I will not levy against a person.  I will not complain about their authentic laughter, especially if it nervous, and I will not complain about their singing.  Life has little enough joy for either of those to be taken away.  That said, my 14yo son sings horribly, loudly, and often enough that I'm spending a lot of time at home with earbuds in.  He goes through periods where he is obsessed with certain songs, and does things to them that would make CIA black site interrogators shudder.  I've lived through the months long massacre of Defying Gravity (defining tragedy), so much Let it Go that I think hypothermia would be preferable, and now he has discovered the wonderful Awesome Mixtape 1 from Guardians of the Galaxy, which he is murdering one by one like Little Bunny Foo Foo and all those poor field mice.

 

The men in my family go deaf as they get older, and I'm not afraid of that anymore...

Well, maybe this will be comforting. My brother sang very badly and often through the first two years of school. He learned to play guitar and got vocal coaching his junior year and instead of trying to ape Steve Perry he found that he sounded like Darius Rucker. And once he did that, him singing is far more pleasant. 

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My dog was in rough condition all weekend, the meds we hoped would help her did not. Then, Sunday, it got worse. We knew it was a matter of time (Lymphoma or old age would get her eventually), but with an ice storm blocking all roads, it was a bitter watch. I'm only grateful that while she was clearly fading, she didn't seem in great pain.

 

She finally expired this morning at her favorite spot at the top of the stairs.

 

RIP, my chocolate shadow

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Very sad for you, Hermit. I had to let several dogs go as a boy. It never got easier.

 

Now, I'm thinking of some old friends. Poncho, Chippy, Fluffy (named by my youngest sister). Fluffy we had to put down because he was turning aggressive (extremely rare in his breed) and killing my grandfather's calves (caught him in the act, literally red pawed). Best guard dog we ever had for the sheep, though. Our previously high losses to coyotes went to 0.0 once we got him and he got grown. Strangest thing though, he was a Komondor/Great Pyrenees mix (both sheepdogs) and terrified of sheep.

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Thanks, Frank. I think I've been very blessed to have lots of great dogs in my life. We still have a beagle with us, a good natured fellow who loves food, people, snoozing and the occasional walk, probably in that order. He can be a bit clueless and just charge through point B on his way from A to C, but last night he was surprisingly tender with our choco lab mix as she lay there fading. We've been told to watch him for depression, but I can assure everyone he's going to get the stuffing hugged out of him in the next week or so.

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  • 2 weeks later...

Went shopping yesterday and thought I would get a quarterpounder from McDonalds just to take the edge of my hunger. This is the closest one to me although it requires a bit of a journey to get there. What happens when I get there ? The dining area is being refurbished and so walk in customers won't be served/ Drive in unaffected. That was a pain.

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  • 3 weeks later...

There are three hundred nineteen plastic "resealable" containers in the kitchen,

 

AND NO TWO OF THEM ARE THE SAME SIZE,

 

and five hundred thirty-six lids for plastic "resealable" containers in the same kitchen,

 

AND NO TWO OF THOSE ARE THE SAME SIZE EITHER,

 

AND NONE OF DISEASED UNDERAGE-REPTILE-SODOMIZING LIDS MATCH ANY OF THE AFTERBIRTH-OF-STILLBORN-MICROCEPHALIC-RAT-FETUS CONTAINERS,

 

and I swear they all came that way,

 

BECAUSE IT MUST BE INTENTIONAL,

 

and I hope it is because the CEO of Glad had his nearest & dearest chopped up into single-serving sized bits and put into the containers his OUGHT-TO-BE-IMPALED-ON-A-STAKE-OF-BURNING-MAGNESIUM COMPANY MANUFACTURED and have been being mailed to him one a day for the last seventeen years,

 

BECAUSE IF THAT ISN'T THE REASON, IT DAMNWELL OUGHT TO BE.

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Dangnammit!

 

I had a job interview that went REALLY well.   At the time I was at the top of their list.   Then they interviewed someone else who had more direct experience than I do.  

 

I feel like I just had my guts ripped out.   

 

On the GOOD side, the manager liked me well enough to recommend me to another branch that is also looking for someone.   

 

I had my hopes up.   

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Grass is always greener, I suppose.  Be careful what you wish for.  When I had money, I proceeded to acquire debt.  Now I have the debt, but not the money.

 

I don't know how you sell back martial arts.  Do you forget how to kick?

 

I got into debt because I had no money. Now, still no money, and still in debt.

 

Selling back martial arts would be a combination of lack of practice, gaining weight, growing old, and old injuries coming back to haunt you. It's not so much as forgetting the maneuvers (although I have forgotten the katas and the combinations of maneuvers) as the ability of doing them well.

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