A couple of weeks ago my dog Bella passed away - just a few days away from her 10th birthday. Probably the only good thing about blogging, which is no more than yelling at clouds after all, is I have 10 years of photos to reflect on. Just a few of her greatest hits:
It's a tough business coming home to an apartment without a dog. My vet left me a letter with the following poem,
“Dogs put some really dumb things in their mouths,” Dr. Levitzke said. “We have dogs come in that have mouth and esophageal burns from drinking bleach. You never see a cat do that because they’re smart. Dogs will try anything once, sometimes twice.”
I don't believe the "my dog ate a joint in Central Park" story at all, although I can definitely empathize with this,
“He was just really body stoned and completely jelly,” said the woman, who produces fashion shoots and spoke on the condition that her name not be used. “His tongue was hanging out of his mouth, his head was lolled over, but any kind of movement in his peripheral vision would just scare the crap out of him.”
I've decided to return to daily blogging, ultimately with a view to promoting my colleagues' anonymous book about Wall Street in the twenty-first century - Occupy a Job on Wall Street comes out this time next year.
My dog sleeps about 20 hours a day. He has his food prepared for him. His meals are provided at no cost to him. He visits the Dr. once a year for his checkup, and again during the year, if any medical needs arise. For this he pays nothing, and nothing is required of him. He lives in a nice neighborhood in a house that is much larger than he needs, but he is not required to do any upkeep. If he makes a mess, someone else cleans it up. He has his choice of luxurious places to sleep. He receives these accommodations absolutely free. He is living like a king, and has absolutely no expenses whatsoever. All of his costs are picked up by others who earn a living. I was just thinking about all this, and suddenly I realized my dog is a congressman.