My Dog Is Dead!

You know that scene in The Man Who Knew Too Little where Bill Murray is trying to figure out how actors can make themselves cry on cue? And he says “What do you do? Do you poke yourself in the eye like this? Or do you think something really sad like ‘My dog is dead!’?” Then he proceeds to poke himself in the eye repeatedly and scream “My dog is dead!” over and over and over again until he finally stops and says, “Nope, nothing.”

You know that scene?

Well it’s kind of like that, but not as funny.

My dog, Acacia, had to be put to sleep Tuesday evening.

She was a Chow-Shepherd mix, which made her an extremely loyal, very protective, surprisingly gentle, overly stubborn, quite pretty, fuzzy German Shepherd with a black-spotted tongue.

She left hair everywhere, scared away the paper-boy, ate entire plates of steak off the counter when you weren’t looking, and woke you up at 5:00am to go out and pee. She was arthritic, had started to lose control of her bladder, and was horribly loud whenever anyone came to the door.

And these were her good qualities.*

Fucking dog.

She will be missed.

*Actually, she was one of the best pets. Ever. She would protect my baby brother from anyone and anything. She would follow you loyally wherever you went and wait patiently outside until you came out, no matter how long it took. She would let you rest your head on her and use her as a pillow. She never complained about anything. She was smart enough that she could understand and respond to human speech. And she was more a part of the family than my sister, who still doesn’t know she was adopted from a Vietnamese crack-whore that used to do this great act where she got DP’ed by two live donkeys. We love and miss you, Acacia.