I’ve written a number of posts that involve my dog, Willie. Here is one of my posts on him. He’s been in my life sporadically over the past six months, and even less the
two previous years. The last time I actually had him in my possession was
December 20th, 2013, the night I was arrested for my meth charge. My
friend Seth had been taking care of him since shortly after that night and he
brought him to the cities a while back to stay at my aunt’s house until I moved
out of my roommate’s (mom’s) place. I have since made that move, and although
this is not yet a permanent situation, Willie is here at home with me and it
feels great.
We’re going down to Fountain tomorrow to visit friends and
have a massive feast at Seth’s family campground, a place where I’ve possibly
never breathed a sober breath. It’s not really a test for me, I know I won’t
drink because that would be the dumbest thing I could possibly do. It’s a
chance for me to see people that I left behind in the wake of my last meth
bender, and a chance to show off how cool I am still in recovery. There won’t
be any alcohol around at all, in fact, because even that would be a violation
of my parole. My friends understand the implications and will respect the
alcohol ban for the day.
Willie has been through a lot in his life. He’s seen me at
my best and my worst, and has loved me without judgement. He has seen me do things
I’m certainly not proud of, and I’m grateful he didn’t fully comprehend what
was going on at the time.
He was kennel trained as a young puppy, and it worked really
well after a trial period. One day in particular, I put him in his cage and
left for work. I didn’t know it, but that would be a 12-hour day at the Kemps
ice cream plant. When I arrived at home shortly after 1am, I saw that he was
standing up in his kennel which was normally because he was happy to see me and
ready to go potty. This time it was different. I don’t know for how long he had
been standing, but I could see that it was because the one-inch tall plastic
liner that was the bottom of the kennel was filled with liquid feces and urine
and he didn’t want to lay down in it. Apparently he had been sick or eaten
something that didn’t agree with him and he had nowhere to go. I felt so bad
for him, and I thought I was a bad owner for letting it happen. He paid me back
by running out of his little home and across the carpet into my room to make
another poop on my floor. I wasn’t mad, and I was actually relieved that he
still had energy. I cleaned it all up and gave him a bath, and all was good
from then on.
Right now he’s passed out in the middle of the living room
and I really want to go cuddle him up. I will when I’m done with this post.
He’s old, and that makes me happy because even though he was
with me for some rough times, he’s always been shown love by me, and all those
who have taken the responsibility to take care of him over the years while I
was off doing stupid things. We never know how long we or anything will last in
this life but I hope that he has a few years left to make people around him
happy. I live in a house with two other guys and I hope they’re willing to let
him move in with me so I can make up for the time we were separated by my
mistakes. And even if that can’t be the case, I know wherever he is, he will be
happy, loved, and such a good boy. I love you Willie.
