Listening to Bitches Ain't Shit by Ben Folds

I feel like I have been talking about dogs a lot lately. In the past I have lamented the fact that I don't have a dog, how much I want one, how much it would mean to me. There are two main reasons why I don't have a god presently.
1. With my schedule it would not be fair to a dog.
2. I don't think apartment living in NYC allows a dog the appropriate room it needs. At least the mid-sized dog that I would want. I can't stand most of those little lapdogs.

When I was a kid I really wanted a dog. Like real real bad. The desire peaked at a locally owned restaurant called "Carbur's." It was one of those 50-beers-at-the-bar-100-types-of-sandwiches-1920's-memorabilia-on-the-wall joints. I was 9 or 10 and out with my parents. I begged and begged. I cried. The waitress thought that my parents were getting a divorce. She kept bringing free sodas.

The next week we drove through southern Vermont until we reached this small daycare. It fenced in on all sides and one section was adjacent to a very steep hill. When we pulled into the drive there were several dogs running around, leaping over the 4 foot high fence, sprinting back and forth. When we went inside there were several puppies in the litter. I selected one of them.I can't remember what the criteria was - only that I 'felt' as if he was the right puppy. He threw up twice on the way home. I called him Socrates - "Sock" for short.

I ended up having him for about 3 years. He loved to run. I mean, he loved to run. If we left the front door open he would bolt. Just bolt like crazy. The only way to get him back was to drive around in our truck and stop and open the door. The only thing he liked better than sprinting was getting a ride in the car.

The vet said that there was probably a lot of in-breeding in his family. He would suffer severe epileptic fits. He would just lie on his side and twitch and shake violently until the fit passed. We tried to give him medication but sometimes they were unavoidable.

He died from one when I was in 8th grade. I remember it pretty clearly. He was on our garage floor. The fit wouldn't stop. I tried to force feed him some of the medication but he wouldn't take it. Rather, he couldn't. My parents eventually made me go to bed. My Mother told me that his heart just gave out.

When I was in my 2nd year in grad school I adopted Buckley. He was a pit bull mix that was left at a city shelter. After walking him once I knew that I wanted to adopt him. He was a great, energetic dog. In fact, he was a driving reason for one of the biggest physical altercations I have ever been a part of. He now lives in VT with my friend Dan. He chases his tail. I had to give himi up when my life got too hectic in my third year of grad school and I moved into a smaller apartment. Now he has a big house to roam, a park to run in, and lots of boy dogs to hump (apparently after leaving New York City Buck turned gay. Who woulda thunk?).

So now here I am. Dog-less. Both my brothers have dogs - Boston (that sweet old girl has cancer in her ears) and Jax (he is one of the sweetest/dumbest dogs I know. But fucking FIERCELY loyal to Josh) and I have none. I'm sure that this speaks to much larger differences between my brothers and I. Choices that we made at some point in the past that has allowed us to have dogs, or families, or 401ks, or trucks, or steady meals, or vacations, or hahahaha. I don't know. I don't envy my brothers. Well ... maybe sometimes I do. But it's never permanent. It's just glimpses of what could have been. I have never regretted the choices that I have made. And I'm sure that all those things will happen in their due time anyway. Which is why I am not too worried about my dog. Someday.