Holy Buckets of Crap, Batman!

Today, the sun was kind enough to thaw the Poop Marsh which is also sometimes referred to as my back yard. Naturally, the family cheerily gathered up their poop scooping equipment, which for me means a medium length shovel with a lovely square-ish spade (There's probably a fancy name for shovels like that, but I prefer to call it a medium length shovel with a lovely square-ish spade,) and a trash-bag-lined bucket. We sped forth in teams of two for thirty minute increments to conquer the land mined with dog doo.

It was while shoveling the approximate ten square feet that I covered into what would be a full bag at the end of my half hour, that I realized my motivation for scooping was half gone. My dog died. I cannot go back in and tease her about pooping so much and how I intend to toilet train her. In retrospect, such training would have saved her life. Odd.

In truth, this isn't the first day I've thought about this. The day after it snowed. All of her paw impressions were gone. Perhaps I'm being overly dramatic, but it seemed like the entire world was ready to move on.

I guess I'm ok with that. I'm a pretty selfish person. If I can't find some way that I can fix it or could have fixed it then it doesn't deserve my thoughts...So, other than being a little sad that I don't see her standing at the top of the stairs when I come home and no one snuggles with me when I sit by the fire and Easton sleeps a lot more than he used to, I cannot bring myself to conjure up grief that she is gone. And if I could, I believe it would just cause other people feel guilty for making the decision to put her down.

You, however, are not allowed to think me callous. I did feel sad. And angry. And I did break out and was covered in fever blisters for a week or so....I have to prioritize now. I have to not think about how quickly she just isn't anymore and instead think about what my grief is causing others and about how I should be doing something with my life and what to do with my room next and how to keep my living dog healthy.

Anyhow, I didn't come to write about this. I wanted to write about how I am mad at certain persons for making me feel like because I really don't want to go to college it is my destiny to live in a van down by the river....and to those of you who would say "I thought that was your plan?" I say "Holy Buckets of Crap, Batman, people like that make me want to shave and tattoo my head simply for the shock value and the disapproving look on their faces that says I'm probably not included in the will anymore."

Anyone up for some cliff diving?