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There goes my gun... walking down the street... My, oh my. How long has it been? Two years... three? But i've been working on other things! My pen is yelling at me... but what does He know? I use him rarely, now-a-days. But i've always been this way. Of sorts, i guess. I'm trying, though... i really am. I've been waiting for these times all my life, but it turns out to be not quite what i expected. There was supposed to be more at this point. Where did i veer off? What set these particular consequences in motion? As a young boy, growing up, our family had quite a few different pets... many dogs, the occasional turtle or frog... &, of course, Iggy - my pet iguana, that committed suicide. And, as interesting of a story as that is, it's relatively unimportant. But my point... Everyone who grew up with pets (or just one pet) had a favorite. Or, maybe not even a favorite... but just one that stands out. The one you had the longest, the one that left the greatest impression... whatever. For me, it was an all-white German Shepard we had for a long time called Spook. The racial connotations of the dog's name were not apparent to me until i was well into my teens... &, honestly, as fucked up as it may seem, i really don't think that was ever the intent. I mean, my father did grow up in a mostly-white, little podunk town - but he's a fairly liberal guy... plus, he did play for the Fremont Village Toggery. I think i'm just digging myself a deeper hole here, so i'll move on. Anyway, Spook was an amazing animal. He was fun to play with, was affectionate towards my sister & i, took in Alex (our Golden Retriever pup) as his little brother, was protective of my mother when she walked him... i mean, really - what the hell more could you ask of a dog? On top of all that, it was a cool looking fucking dog. But (as most good stories go), all great things must come to an end. And Spook's came swiftly. It's one of the few days from my childhood that i remember vividly. I came home from school one day & let the dogs out of their pen to run around. And i'll be damned if that dog didn't run straight out into the street & bite some guy on his ass. Looking back, it was such a surreal moment. I had never seen him do anything like that before. He just went straight out there, bit the guy, then turned right around & went back into the yard & laid down like nothing had happened. I remember locking the dogs back up & going into the house, sitting down & just bawling like a big baby. A few weeks later, my dad was pulling away in his truck, Spook in the back, off to the pound to have him put down. Turns out the asshole that he bit was the son of a local Judge. Fucking cops even came to our house & took my dad away in handcuffs... although, i think this had more to do with my father's disdain for the local PD (&, well, cops in general) than anything else. A sad day in the Bogner household, for sure. I'm not going to even get into what it did to Alex. That, quite frankly, is one of the saddest stories i know. It's a sad tale... but how many people that grew up in some shitty-ass small town doesn't have some similar story? I did get a small measure of revenge, though. In Junior High, i regularly went to the YMCA before school with my Old Man to play basketball with a bunch of other guys who went there before work to run a few games. There, i had the privilege of playing against that son-of-a-bitch Judge. And i punished that motherfucker. I embarrassed him game-wise (this, i admit, is not saying much, cos dude sucked) & i also fouled, shoved, kicked & generally just abused this asshole any chance i got. I particularly remember a tremendous elbow landed to this dunce's chin that dislodged two of his teeth. However... as much as all this pleased myself, as well as my father... it never did bring our dog back. That glorious Beast. That fucking dog was the greatest motherfucking dog... EVER. But, as is life. That's just the way it is... right? Spook is always with me, in a way. That dog's life & death has echoed many times in my life. J.W.: Someone killed, of no fault of his own, by a stranger. Katie: Someone who killed herself with the help of someone else i knew. Jeremiah: An idol of mine, who killed himself despite what i, or others, might have tried. Sara: An unexpected death, for no apparent reason. None of it really makes sense. And, quite frankly, it shouldn't. I guess. I guess that's just the way it goes. Or, so they tell me. In the end, i really don't know. And neither do you... if ya wanna be honest. None-the-less... thanks for letting me vent... |