When I was a kid my Grandfather- who- once he adopted a dog, could make it so that for that dog nothing in the world existed except for the two of them. I mean, it’s not like his dogs weren’t friendly- you could just sort of tell that they looked through people but they always looked at my Grandfather.

So my Grandfather would tell these great stories about his Dogs and there is one I’ve been thinking about a lot recently because you can’t turn on the TV or pick up a paper and see that the economy has tanked.

My Grandfather told me that his family once owned a German Sheppard, it was smart- spooky smart. It could get into the house through open windows, it would show up at my Grandfather’s school or my Great Grandfather’s workplace and just be sitting there at the door.

Waiting.

He told me the dog could crawl along the floor and that it did a lot of other moves that I guess you’d see in trained attack dogs or police dogs but this dog wasn’t aggressive at all.

I asked him where they got this dog and he would say ‘ Oh around’ or he would just tell me he didn’t want to talk about it.

But once my Grandfather and his Sister were doing some serious downing  of their  Christmas booze so I knew if if I was ever going to learn about this dog now was the time.

 I asked about the dog- who they named Tippy for some weird reason- I’ve seen pictures of this dog. Cujo would have been more fitting.

Where did they get it?

My Grandfather said:

” It belonged to this family, you know it was during the depression and the man, well, times were bad. Just bad. He was in a bad, bad way. They were losing everything. So he killed his wife and his kids and then he shot himself. The dog was their dog.”

And then I remember my Grandfather’s sister told me, ” it wasn’t unheard of, for things like that to happen back then.”

So now days I’m thinking now more about the  Dead Kid’s Dog, that story from a long time ago- and I hope that story stays back there in the past and that I don’t turn on the news or pick up a paper and read…

 

 

A few years ago I had a thyroid condition called Graves Disease.

There were a couple of really rough patches for me when I was being treated for Graves.

The Doctor I went to was checking my thyroid during one of my exams and right after he did that I noticed I had trouble swallowing the Italian Soda I treated myself to after seeing him because I truly hated the man-

the soda was a bribe to get myself into that office.

In addition to having to see a Doctor I hated ( actually I dumped him first chance I got)-  my hair broke apart if I did as much as look at it and then half of it fell out.

Which may have been traumatic had I not had so much to begin with I had to get it thinned when I had it cut.

So this thyroid thing was a pain in the neck ( ha, ha, ) and when it was all over with I never did grow back all of my hair but it was healthy and shiny which is something it hadn’t been for a very long time.

And then it started to turn gray- in fact, more then half of it is gray now like I care.I think it’s fine- I mean, my hair is shiny and bouncy and I have this cool Veronica Lake style going on so what’s the problem?

Everyone keeps telling me to dye it.

I liked my real hair color- it was dark brown with red highlights.

That’s pretty much all gone now.

And no dye job is going to bring it back.

I figure people want me to dye it because gray hair means I’m getting old- and if I’m getting old- that means that they are too.

Self centered Toad Munchers.

Look.

This is how I feel about getting older and having gray hair.

One of my best friends died before we turned 21.

He will never have gray hair.

He will never see me with gray hair.

I would have given anything for that to not be a sad fact of my life.

So to those who are concerned about my getting older I say:

People.

get your freaking priorities in order!