My brother's dog Chloe (some sort of "wolf" and husky mix) is getting a little old. She's the coolest and most relaxed dog I ever met, with an excellent sense of humor.
When I talk to her, which I did a lot when I moved here, she looks at me with an expression that suggests "dude, I'm a dog. Do you expect me to answer or something?"
She's getting a little old and has some arthritis in her pelvis. She's my only friend in San Antonio and is always stoked to see me, even if my asshole twin brother is not.
It's really sad thinking of her dying, I'm getting a little misty here at work. Parents? Aunts and uncles? Well, they're old and lived long lives and I'm not terribly close with them.
But, Chloe? I'm going to really lose my shit when she goes, hopefully a few years from now.
A friend of mine gets bad blood clots in her legs. Any one of them can kill her. I know this but I never say anything. When she was in the hospital a lot, I did my best to be there first and the last to leave. She hasa hard life, some of it is her doing but most of it is not -- all sorts of fucked up things happen to her.
Some dude punched her in the face 10 years ago, when they X-rayed her broken nose, they found a brain tumor.
That's not a loss, and I don't mean to minimize anyone's loss.
"I knew it was wrong, but I did it anyway."
Jesus fuckhole, what the fuck was that?
"Playa dust might be the cleanest, most corrosive filth you'll ever love," Savannah said.