Like a Lunatic

Lately I've only been living up to half of my name. It's strange that I don't feel remorse for my grandfather who died a few months ago. Instead, the up-and-coming death of my dog has been much harder on me. Just now my parents were suggesting uthanization (wrong spelling) in front of me, I told my father to shut up. He told me that children don't speak to their fathers that way and that I should apologize. I didn't. I just walked away from the problem like I always do.

My dog, Sandy, was the first true friend I ever had and my family often refers to her as my sister. I suppose I'm not only mourning my approaching loss, but the memories of mine to which my dog holds as well. My childhood has been something I've always cherished and longed to relive. But as we all know, our dreams hardly ever come true. I remember the days when my family would go up to our cottage on the lake and my brother, my friend Sam, and myself would go look for dragons. My brother would bring a stick for a weapons and Sam and I would follow his lead. We'd troop along the trails hunting for demons and cryptic creatures while keeping the warnings of "NO TRESPASSING" as an added fear in the backs of our heads. Whats this have to do with your dog?
Well, she would stay back with my parents and run around the property like a lunatic. It wasn't often we let her roam free without a leash. When the three of us would return, eat supper, and get ready for bed, I would go find Sandy.

She was often sleeping on the upper floor, tired after a long day of nonstop running. I'd go and sit next to her and recite the exciting adventures I had that day. I was only about nine or ten years old, so talking to her was normal. Although I don't see it as very normal now, I still talk to her at times and she listens. In recent years of being at the cottage, I no longer hunt for dragons to ride, demons to slay, or cryptic mysteries to crack. The demons slay me. I stay on the upper floor of the cottage and watch T.V. or play the old Nintendo 64 (I've gotten quite fat). Sandy still runs about, but in the mornings after the active day prior she is in pain. Stiff and old, but still able to explore. I wish I was the young her.

Sandy has become slightly delusional. She is loosing her hearing, lacking the strength to make it up stairs, and constantly having to pee every ten minutes or so. Reading that sentence I've realized that perhaps I was wrong, maybe dreams come true more often that I realize. All three of the things she is now, I've become (a little less peeing). Dreams are evil.

Sincerely yours,
A clinically depressed author