And now we’re drinking like fuck and talking about good dogs.
And now we’re drinking like fuck and talking about good dogs.
Jason Jones talks to Gina Loudon, conservative analyst.
The above picture is a screen grab I took of a GOP press conference on the audacity of senate democrats “decision” to defund the NIH. They actually had the nerve to come out in MEDICAL COATS. Someone’s fake crying right now, didn’t catch the name. No one mentioning how the GOP wanted to cut the NIH’s funding by $1-billion back in 2011. I guess it’s now important…GOP…that party of science! We should even change their name to the GOPoS, Grand ‘Ole Party of Science or Grand ‘Ole Piece of Shit, take your pick.
I got the radio on all day now and it’s just disgusting. I’d like to take this moment to thank all of the federal workers (especially all of my DC friends, who are basically at home these days marathon watching TV shows and thinking about cooking meth) who take jobs at lower pay and with mediocre benefits and absolutely no sweetners who are currently furloughed and will continue to be furloughed for weeks while career politicians with little-to-no-chance of getting voted out of office take the floor and fake-cry over kids with cancer, many of whom probably wouldn’t see the benefits of the NIH’s research without the Affordable Care Act.
Theater, man. It’s all shitty, shitty theater.
The largest and most colorful photograph ever made of The Beatles!—Seventeen Magazine, December 1964 (scanned by weirdvintage)
We adopted Becky back in 2005. Her previous owner was an older man who died and left her homeless. Before that she lived in someone’s backyard because she didn’t get along with her owner’s other dog. She came to us with a green, striped sweater, a harness, and a ball. Her adoption coordinator left her at our apartment to see how we’d get along. We threw the ball for her all afternoon and gave her a ton of treats (she was a bit overweight then). When the adoption coordinator came back to pick her up, Becky ran to my lap and sat there. We decided to keep her at that moment.
She was an eight-year-old “senior” who refused to act like a senior.
She loved her ball so much. She was obsessed with it. One day she actually passed out after too much fetch. She once knocked over a baby who was holding a ball. It got to the point where we’d have to hide all of the balls in the house and show her that we were hiding them in drawers or else she’d spend hours trying to find them.
Becky and I got off to a rocky start. After only a week or so of owning her, I threw the ball for her and hit her in the eye. It swelled up. The same day, in order to make it up to her, I went in to kiss her belly and she bit my face. She wouldn’t go near me for a couple of weeks after that and I needed to win her back, but I did, eventually.
She became my buddy and my baby. She would stay up with me late into the night, sleeping on my lap while I typed away in front of my laptop and picking up the goldfish crumbs that fell from my mouth. She’d run up to me every time I came through the door.
She loved Robin, too. Despite how close Becky and I were, every time I leaned over Robin to kiss her goodnight or good morning, Becky would jump between us and growl…just in case my intention was to hurt her sleeping mom.
Over time it became obvious that she was the perfect dog. I know a lot of people say that, but we have qualitative and quantitative evidence that everyone loved Becky. Friends would come over just to play with her and her vet never charged us a dime for any of her services, which became substantial in her older years. I remember this one time when she suffered her first Addisonian crisis and we had a bill that was over $700 wiped totally clean. I just broke down and started crying in the vet’s office.
I’d estimate that over our eight years with Becky, we were comped close to $10,000 in vet services. She ended up being a sickly dog, but she was a well cared for sick dog.
Her first issue was her heart murmur, which was bad from the start. She was nine years old at the time and the vet said that with diet and exercise she could be around for another two or three years. That was almost seven years ago. The heart murmur never slowed her down.
Then there was the sinking. She’d play fetch until she started coughing and when she started coughing she’d pass out. The first time this happened was terrifying - I was at SPX when my wife called. I ran to the vet with her and we talked about all of these possibilities but, as it turned out, we just had to get her coughing under control. She had a collapsed trachea which would occasionally get irritated. We nipped that one and although she couldn’t play ball as much, we still allowed her to play fetch now and again. That was four years ago.
Then came the cushings. She got overweight and started losing her hair and started urinating everywhere. It took a while to diagnose her but we did and she got on some medications and got better. But she was over medicated, and her cushings turned into Addisons, and before long she started having seizures and acting more and more lethargic. Her vet said it was a probably a brain tumor but I did some research and discovered it was Addisons. We took her off her cushings meds and she improved, but not before having one Addisonian crisis that almost killed her. She made it through it, however.
And that was almost two years ago.
After the Addisons ordeal she became a different dog. Old Becky, as we liked to call her. The ball wasn’t her obsession anymore and overtime food wasn’t all that cool, either. She just wanted to snuggle all the time, and we were more than happy to do that.
But she kept getting older. Her legs were getting shakier - she couldn’t do steps anymore. She didn’t like leaving the house unless it was to sit on a bench or on the hammock. She got real close to Lucy, our other dog, and would just spend hours laying with her in their dog bed. She was there for Lucy in the end, two months ago. She’s seemed pretty sad since.
Saturday night I was on the couch with Becky lying next to me. I wasn’t working, as I used to do, but playing video games. She woke up barking and growling and I thought she was having a nightmare. But she wouldn’t stop doing it. Her eyes wouldn’t open and she wouldn’t stand up and every ten seconds or so she’d let out a bark/howl/growl hybrid. It was a terrifying sound.
We took her to the vet. I was convinced it was another Addisonian crisis and, if so, no big deal. We hydrate her, get her some steroids, and take her home. But when her blood work came back it showed her Addison’s was in check - and for a dog her age the only thing that could cause this level of neurological sickness was a major stroke or a brain tumor.
We made the difficult decision to stop treatment. My wife and I held her for a little while. She wasn’t there. She kept barking and growling and her eyes wouldn’t open, not once. The vet said she wasn’t in pain, that she probably wasn’t aware of anything and the barking was completely involuntary and comes from pressure on the brain.
I held her as they put her down. There’s always that moment when you want to shout, “No, stop!” because you feel like you’re giving up on a loved one. I associated her barking with her own fighting - Becky, always the fighter - refusing to go down.
But it was time. And she looked so peaceful when it was over.
I’m going to miss her. A lot. When I come home now there’s no excited barking when I turn the key. There’s no one lying next to me in the couch when I do my work. There’s just my wife and I in bed, which is a weird feeling.
And I feel terrible for other reasons, too. I always joked that she was my muse. But that last night..I was playing video games. I wasn’t using her muse-like powers. The last short story I was working on was about her. It was called Reggie & Reggie & Becky. I never finished it.
Before we put Becky down I told her a story. I used to tell her stories all the time. This one went like this.
"Once upon a time there was a dog named Becky, and she loved her ball. She would chase her ball until she passed out. Her dad couldn’t throw the ball far enough to satisfy her so he started hitting it with a wiffle ball bat to get some more distance on it. As she got older, she chased the ball less and less until, finally, one day, she didn’t want to chase the ball anymore. This was sad, at first, but no one was mad at Becky. They all understood that she was just too old and too tired to spend her days chasing balls.
One morning she woke up, however, and she felt younger. Her legs were strong, her heart was strong - she had energy. So her dad threw the ball for her. Only a little bit at first. She ran after it, picked it up, and brought it back. So he threw it again, a little further this time. She ran after it, picked it up, and brought it back.
He threw it across the yard and she brought it back. He threw it down the street and she brought it back. He threw it into the park a couple of blocks away and she brought it back.
He threw it into the sunset, and she ran after it, smiling the whole way.
I’m gonna miss that girl. She was a once-in-a-lifetime dog.
Plastic Man #37, September 1952, cover by Alex Kotzky
Hard night, everyone. We lost Becky. She was, for a lack of any better word, my baby. After years of illness and scares she went quick. She was the best dog, everyone loved her. I have so many things to say about her, just not right now. I just know a lot of you knew her since I joined tumblr. Many of her pics were liked and passed around.
This year, guys. This year…
Must wonderful time of the year.
Drake turned Jaden Smith’s face from the VMAs into a shirt and it’s amazing.