tagReviews & EssaysThree Days of Crying & Prayers

Three Days of Crying & Prayers


"The evil that men do lives after them; the good is oft interred with their bones"

       Mark Anthony/Julius Caesar, Act 3, Scene 2


It was the dump truck that made me cry first.

I just dropped off a pitbull puppy at ACS here in San Antonio, Texas, and I've been crying since I let her off the leash to the handler there. She is (I can't use 'was' yet; or maybe it's appropriate since she's no longer mine.) a wonderfully sweet and tame creature, a ball of fur and teeth. She is good with people and house-broken, and has maybe a year to a year and a half of age under those big paws. 

And she has 3 days to live.

San Antonio is trying but failing to adopt a No-Kill Policy for their center but the dumb-ass, back-water stupid-fuck people here have NO clue how to tend for an animal and they're of the Michael Vick's persuasion, meaning they think dogs need to 'fight' to be worthy of life, or 'bred' to insure they have a sense of worth in having a litter of dogs.

Thus, many dogs are not spayed or neutered.

Sometimes … depending on the day or time of year, you'll see a mother bitch with a line of pups walking down the road, or crossing the street, or find a lost puppy who was separated from the moving pack and is either dinner to something else or will die from exposure to the elements.

Sometimes you just find the remains…

I cried as I sent her into the office with the animal control worker, and I cried out the door, down the highway and all the way back home. Knowing her fate I am trying not to vomit or cry again. My own dog Blondie is a comfort to me.

As I waited to be processed, a young man came up, wearing dirty clothing, a sweat-soaked shirt and filthy boots.

"Hey," he said, "can you sign off on my truck?"

The worker taking care of me asked, "Is it ready? I gotta go soon."

"All the bodies are inside. I just gotta get it going."

When the word 'bodies' hit my mind, I was reeling. I could feel my stomach swirling, and the nausea was creeping into my spine. The man looked at me, and then the puppy looked up at me as we signed papers and answered questions about her disposition and well-being. I told him she was friendly, and her stool was clean and her pee was clear. I paused, and he took a picture of her, and then asked if I wanted to adopt her.

"If not in three days she's going to be destroyed."

I could feel the tears slipping out of the corners of my eyes: "If I could I wouldn't have brought her here. But I just can't afford her and … three days? I thought they had longer than that."

"No sir. That's all. Just three days."

I started weeping, calmly, then wiped my face and led her into the office to await a kennel, and then to await her fate. I made a sign-of-the-cross over her eyes, and as I pulled the leash off her neck and wound it in my hands, I could see her trying to follow me. A small push and she stayed in the office, and I walked out quickly, waiting to get in my car to let the tears flow.

As I strode out, I whispered to myself, "That's one of the shittiest things I've ever done."

And like I said, I cried all the way home. At the Valero store, the staff didn't restock hotdogs, chili or cheese, so it took a while to get a snack to calm my nerves. But eating at my feelings won't bring back that wonderful dog.

I didn't have the balls to keep her in the first place. I don't have the money to adopt her out of the ACS facility, and I didn't have the nerve to say the second I heard her fate, "Fuck it. I may live on bologna, but you're gonna live with me."

Someone who loved me once promised to live with me, even in poverty, and now I am living in poverty alone. I wish I had that love again, and I am heart-broken. I have no sense of up or down, and feel that all I am is a shadow of my former self. All my wounds are self-inflicted, and refuse to heal. But that's my own problem, and for it I should either be treated or die.

Right now I want to die. I couldn't save a dog my less alone my dreams, and I am falling apart, little by little, wishing there were more to my life than the agony in my heart and soul. I live a losing battle to chase my dreams, and I hope that IF that dog doesn't find a home, that God sees her to the Gates of Heaven. She deserves that much if nothing else; if no family here then a place with God above.

A lot of people worry about their fate.

I'm not very concerned.

In all honesty, I've been a very bad man for a very long time. I'm dishonest, a liar, a habitual deviate and pervert, and unworthy of the Love the Almighty has stored for us in Heaven. But that dog didn't do the things I did and deserves a chance to be happy, running until Time ends with other dogs, playing and enjoying her afterlife.

Personally I think I do my best towards God and His wishes. I'm kinder to a lot of people than I can imagine, even without a cent to my name or the hopes of a better job. Personally I always hope to be the kid everyone wants to be around, and maybe even after all these decades, I still feel like that: the last one picked, the one they're 'stuck with', the one who can't be chosen or fun or happy. Nothing I do ever came out right, and I am a train-wreck in my own feelings and heart.

I am sad, and have a headache.

This blog, this unending death, feels the same way. It should have slipped away, and yet refuses to die, and I hate the world for it. I wish they'd absorb every vowel, every syllable, every thought and construction of the ego and heart I care to spew into the air and through the power of words. I really wish I knew I could change the world somehow making other people happy with my expressions and ideas, voicing change, making them think twice, be aware, and maybe say 'Thank you Julian; you helped me see something I never knew about myself."

Fuck it – that's a goddamned wish that won't be fulfilled with two lifetimes.

Goodbye puppy. I'm sorry I can't do anything more than cry and pray.

I wish I could fix it, fix the world, fix my world.

But that's another impossibility.

Like being loved, and being honest.

Bullshit on top of bullshit.

I'll add the pictures later. I'll cry for now & have some Wild Turkey.

Maybe that'll ease the pain.

Maybe …


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