Article Highlights
FROM SUBSTACK
FATHERHOOD?
After we divorced 20 years later, I was shocked that she left me with custody of Baby, her “daughter.” They had been inseparable, to the extent that I often felt like a third wheel. When we rescued Baby five years ago, it was clear that she had been horribly abused, and would need a great deal of care. My ex, a natural care-taker, assumed the lion’s share of those responsibilities. Our split-up occurred at the very beginning of Covid. For almost a year, Baby was the only being with whom I had physical contact. The care and feeding and loving of my dog became the central focus of my life. We grew as close as Siamese twins, attached at the hip. It was (and is) a profound pleasure being velcroed to a munchkin who is affectionate, loyal, mischievous, neurotic (like her owner), endlessly entertaining, and belly-laugh funny. It felt like my life was a buddy movie, with a buddy who slept on my bed, inches from me, with her head resting on a pillow.
I don’t necessarily think of myself as Baby’s father, but when dog owners refer to themselves as their dog’s “mommy” or “daddy”, I never think it’s silly. I relate. At this point in my life, it is highly doubtful I will ever be a father, but I know someone who thinks I’m hers.
STICKS & STONES
My blogs get read more than the ones my human writes. His last blog was about politics, and nobody read it. From what I can see on the shows we watch, like Rachel Madcow, politics is mostly about hating. Same with religion. With humans, things that are supposed to be good are bad.
When my last family imprisoned (new word) me in a shelter, they told me it would be fun, I’d have lots of new friends, and I would have sweet dreams there. Fun is not the word I would use to describe the shelter, especially when my ‘new friends’ were getting killed. A better word is nightmare (new word). And the only dream I had there was that someone would rescue me. When humans came to see which of us they wanted to take home, I tried to look adoptable (new word) but they only wanted puppies. It’s a miracle somebody finally chose me.
The word shelter is supposed to mean safety and protection (new words) but that’s just another word trick. Humans use their mouths to make other humans, and sometimes dogs, feel bad. One time my human called me a ‘good-for-nothing mutt’. He was very sorry but I didn’t like him for the whole afternoon. In the five years I’ve been alive it seems that human’s word attacks have gotten worse and worser. You hear sayings like, “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never hurt me.” That is a big pile of poop. Words do hurt.
What if humans couldn’t talk? Just imagine (new word).
More Substack Articles