Dead pets

I know many of you have grieved over losing pets. Losing one to a long-term illness is difficult. Losing one abruptly and needlessly increases the pain. My wife and I adopted the doggy at a Humane Society tent at some UT festival years ago. They told us her previous owner called her Sugar, so we decided to name her "Sugar." Such a good dog. So fucking loving. Just give her a Milkbone. So happy to see you. She'd lie on my chest, both of us snoring away on the couch while a late-night NBA game played on the TV. The kids next door have a basketball hoop. The kids are good at knocking down planks in the wooden fence separating the yards. I let Sugar out for her nightly whiz. It was too dark to notice that the kids had knocked down enough planks again to allow Sugar exit. She went wandering. She tried to cross Bancroft toward UT Hall. She didn't know that vehicles don't stop for small, friendly dogs walking across the street. Sugar had big brown eyes. Her little tail would wag like a whip and she'd give that dog smile when you came in from work. How could you not smile back, then give your little dog a hug?

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Condolences...

“Political correctness is a doctrine, fostered by a delusional, illogical minority, and rabidly promoted by an unscrupulous mainstream media, which holds forth the proposition that it is entirely possible to pick up a turd by the clean end.”

Right-wing, left-wing or whatever persuasion of politics doesn't seem to matter when one loses a pet. God bless you.

Patience is a great virtue.

I've lost pets....and I've lost family.....

Neither is easy...

But pets are pets and family is family....

Just be careful not to confuse the two...

If you die in the house...you dog will eventually eat you when he runs out of food...

I doubt your family would do the same...

Just sayin'....

PS....get a puppy and call your family...

“Political correctness is a doctrine, fostered by a delusional, illogical minority, and rabidly promoted by an unscrupulous mainstream media, which holds forth the proposition that it is entirely possible to pick up a turd by the clean end.”

After you posted this " Everyone's name is "Mike" or "Mickey" around Saint Paddy's Day. So lay off, bastard. And since you're obviously a Frenchie, how did you did you get a first name like "Fred"? Did a kraut rape your granny during the occupation of Paris? Nothing against the French, but I long ago learned that they are the most effete, feeble people ever to populate the European continent. But at least you have a good, strong, German first name" I considered posting something ugly and mean about your dog. Then I realized it would only bring me down to your level.

Any statement I make is the opinion of me exercising my first amendment right to freedom of speech. Freedom of speech in the United States is protected by the First Amendment to the United States Constitution and is generally permitted.

Wow

I would never advocate violence against someone for their failings, their miserable, sad, and pathetic manifestations of their own profound unhappiness. But if someone chose to go upside your head with a baseball bat, most of us would not give a damn.

Thus illustrating once again that Libtards are prone to fits of violence over words...never know what you might say that will set one off....even merely quoting someone might do it.....

“Political correctness is a doctrine, fostered by a delusional, illogical minority, and rabidly promoted by an unscrupulous mainstream media, which holds forth the proposition that it is entirely possible to pick up a turd by the clean end.”

all the ridicule i've hurled at you on this site was totally undeserved and because of that, earlier today in the confessional, i admitted my sins to padre. father told me that because my ridicule was directed at a good catholic boy who never ridiculed anybody, who never said an unkind word, who has an unblemished soul, that my sins were mortal. so it looks like i'm going straight to hell. he said doing the ten 'our fathers' and 'hail marys' wouldn't make a difference. thank you for not coming down to 'my level,' fred. you are magnanimous. but tell you what, if you want to say something ugly and mean about my dog, go right fucking ahead. i don't give a flying fuck. neither would sugar. know what sugar would do if she met you? she'd walk up to you, sit, look up to you and smile, and hope she got patted on the head.

Patience is a great virtue.

I was more than a little suprised that a man who could write about the loss of his pet that way would say such mean spirited things about my grandmother.

Any statement I make is the opinion of me exercising my first amendment right to freedom of speech. Freedom of speech in the United States is protected by the First Amendment to the United States Constitution and is generally permitted.

Fred, I did not know your grandmother, so I could not have been speaking about her personally. I was making reference to the French people, who defined their nation by again and again calling on the Brits and Americans to bail them out when the Germans came rolling in. I'm sorry that the French are such week-kneed cocklickers. But that's your heritage. As for me, all four of my grandparents were dead by the time I was born. Grandpa on my daddy's side was a kraut, said to have had his way with many women in 1942 in Paris.

Patience is a great virtue.

You really need to see a psychiatrist.

Don,

I'm very sorry to learn of your loss. It's hard to think about adopting another dog after you've just lost one, but I've found that it actually helps you to get past your grief. The outside of the dog is good for the inside of the man.

Reading some of the hate mail here, I'd like to reassure you that we aren't all like that. Think for a minute: what kind of life experiences does it take to produce garbage like the stuff they write?

Again, you have my sincere condolences.

Mad Jack
Mad Jack's Shack

The outside of the dog is good for the inside of the man.

There's wisdom in that. Not quite sure what yet but I'm going to reflect on it. I hope to find that point of light.
I know your note was sent with the best of intentions, and for that I thank you. I can tell you have had or currently share a home with a dog.
Maybe G-Man was correct. Maybe I need to see a shrink. Then again, maybe I was just doing a little free-form writing in the aftermath of Sugar's death.
Should I return to standard Swampbubbles exchanges of insight?
Okay, I'll try.
"Teechers are Overpaid!! they only work nine damn months out of the yeer! and Yet they can't teech my kid how to spell. Im damn tired of paying them so much money when my taxes keep going up? and Don't even start me on the potholes in my street!! City workers get in trucks, drive to the donut shop and feed their faces while I'm paying for their pensions!? and now beaners from Mexico are driving freight trucks into the U.S. and the chinks now have stealth fighters that could turn Boston into baked beans in a minute!! I told you this what we'd get? how's that 'hope and change' working for you now?"
That was a bit more in the Swampbubbles vernacular, don't you think?
I won't mention Sugar again. But, Madjack, I appreciate that you sense my feeling of loss. Perhaps I should not have shared it on the board. My own feeling is that if you have a dog, you give him hugs, kisses and bisquits every day.

Patience is a great virtue.

I've had two pets die on me. The first was a dog who I had for 17 years. He was a mutt named Cricket. I got him just after he was weaned. He chirped instead of barked. That's why we named him Cricket. He wasn't an especially bright dog, but he was always happy and playful. I was about 13 when Cricket was given to me and after I graduated from college my mother wouldn't let me take him with me. She loved Cricket too.

I visited him every time I came back to Toledo and he never forgot me even though he hadn't seen me for years. In 1978 I came to Toledo for Christmas and learned that Cricket had died. My mother didn't tell me because she said I'd find out soon enough. My father buried him at the family farm in Oregon, Ohio.

My second pet was a blue-gray Persian mix cat. He was an awesome tom cat. He wieghed about a pound when I got him, and two years later he was over thirty pounds. My two girls and my wife adored this cat as well as myself. He was 9 years old when he died from pneumonia.

His death devasted the family, and my youngest daughter has his ashes sitting on her mantle in a beautiful vase. The funny thing about him was that most people who visited our home for the first time thought he was a long haired dog the first time they saw him. More interesting, he behaved more like a dog than a cat. His name was Simon and I really miss him. After Simon's death I vowed to never get another pet and I haven't. He's been gone for 18 years.

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