stories of my dang diddley life, by not-a-writer

[maninkari]

Hello friends, I am not a writer, but don't get me wrong, this is a writing.

Forgive the tiny text, I am unbearably immature and couldn't resist putting this font size.

What's something I want to write about...?

Well, how 'bout dogs.

I got a couple dogs myself. I have a 54 lbs bully mix and a 15 lbs dachshund mix. Their hobbies are ratting, chasing balls, and barking at anything and everything. JJ (my bully mix) is turning one year on the 26th. I'm so proud of her, from little 9 lb parvo pup to my big 'ol parvo survivor pup.

My dachshund mix, creatively name Pete, is likely a bit over two years old. He's a rescue, and his adoption fees were lifted because he was a bounce-back at the shelter. I can't imagine why, he's very sweet. He had some fear aggression issues toward large dogs, wasn't quite housebroken and still gets into everything no matter where you put it, but all of those are such minor problems. If you deal with some slight annoyances you're rewarded with the most sweet, loyal, and silly dog. Maybe he'll never star in obedience, but he'd attack a tiger to keep me safe.

I love them both very much.

[maninkari]

I cleaned my room today.

Not because I'd finally come to my senses and realized I couldn't live in a dumpster anymore, just because I needed space to work. I had just gotten a pair of mourning dove wings, and given that its the summer I wanted to clean them as soon as possible. Mourning doves and cluttered rooms, however, are not the main focus of this narrative (not that there is a focus anywhere, my thoughts are relatively scattered).

As I was cleaning I found a stack of papers. I knew without looking what they were. Papers from my stay in the hospital, that I kept out of fear of being admitted again. Honestly, it still lingers at the back of my mind. Everyday there's a darkness, a memory of shivering in freezing cold rooms and forcing down dry hospital food, unbearable loneliness, sleepless nights of not thinking. The papers though, were not something I thought about daily, they were just a side note from a year ago... two years? Time escapes me sometimes.

What a trip it'd be if I found the journal I kept.

Aside from being an unwelcome blast-from-the-past, the only thing that bothered me about them is that they were not where I originally put them. Meaning that my dad moved them. He knows I never threw them out, I couldn't let go for so long that I forgot about their existence. I hope he didn't look at them.

Oh, I also found a knife that I had picked up back then. No, not for the reason you're thinking. I used to collect random trash I found, and once brought home a little butterfly knife I thought was cool. Neat find.

[maninkari]

Another on the subject of dogs.

I love terriers. Really, just any breed of terrier. If you know me, then you know my favorite dog is the American Pit Bull Terrier. Every bull + terrier breed are up on my list of favorite breeds.

Terriers are naturally little anarchists. They want to destroy stuff, they want to kill rodents, and they want to have their way. These dogs are so incredibly tenacious. They're also very tough. A lot of people think they're practically impossible to train, but I've never found that to be the case. You can't assert yourself "alpha" of a terrier, they're not going to listen to you just because you try to be "dominant". Not that it's a good idea with any dog.

It's not about dominating a dog, it's about being a damn nice person and working with them. Always reward them for coming when called, give them time to run free and chase toys to their hearts desire, and generously deliver love and affection.

Don't get me wrong, be consistent, set rules, but don't expect them to listen because you always walk out the door first or alpha roll them whenever they misbehave.

Dear god, do I hate alpha rolling.

[maninkari]

In the night, I have dreams

In these dreams, I tear off my arm

I set it atop my bookshelf

Sitting there as it rots

When it's rotten, I can't bring myself to throw it away

My arm, which I can't let go

I look at it every morning and every night

It watches

My arm, which I can't let go

One morning, I look to my bookshelf

My arm is dark and rotten

Something seems different

I look, and I see

Ants inside of my rotten arm

That day, I had to throw out my arm

Carelessly into the dirt

It watches as I walk away

My arm, which I can't let go