Dog 2: We are all pussies
No - I didn't pick up another dog.
When my mother was young she had a dog. One day my Grandpa John told her and his other children that they could no longer afford to keep that dog. Being that they lived in a small western Kansas town, where the horizon is as flat as the sea and the winds wail at an average 25mph, he told them he would take the dog to a farmer nearby.
My grandpa was an undersheriff and knew many people and carried a weapon. He took that dog for a drive and it is rumored that it never made it to a farmers house. Rather he "let it go." If you can't put two and two together maybe you deserve to be shot. That dog sure didn't deserve to be shot. Grandpa was never a malicious man and what I experienced was that he was always kind and gentle. When my grandpa was young my grandma said he either drank laughin' whiskey or fightin' whiskey - you didn't want to be around him when he was drinking the latter. I think I am not dissimilar to this man - but at the same time I know I am much weaker.
My grandpa had a close friend that shot himself. Grandpa also died before my friend Josh did the same and so we never got to talk about it. Granpa was "on duty" when his friend was found. He had to go to his friend's house with the coroner, help him remove his friends body, and then clean up the mess for his friends wife. His friend had shot himself in the mouth with a shotgun. I never experienced any of this.
Grandpa John was an engineer in the army in the European theater during WWII. He was in charge of a small group of men, I am not sure what the group was called and I don't know what his rank was. When I was a child it had to be explained to me that engineers in the army didn't build things, rather they blew things up. He was commanding a group of newbies and they came under intense mortar and artillery fire. Everyone was ordered to split up and only himself and one other man did. Running away from the group he turned back to yell at them to split up again as he witnessed an artillery shell drop directly in the center of the group. Six men vanished from the face of the earth - only pieces were left. I have never experienced any of this.
I tried to take that dog I found to an animal shelter. They told me there was a 50% chance he would be euthanized. Why did I save this dog to take it to a place where there was a 50% chance of him being killed. I guess that is better than starving to death or being hit by a car.
My question is -- why can't I just take this dog out and shoot it? This is not a rhetorical question and none of these following questions are. Why are we all such a bunch of emotional pussies? Why is my friends death still incapcitating to me? - I didn't have to wipe his brains up off a wall like my grandfather did for his friend. I didn't have to carry his dead body out of his house. Why are we all a bunch of pussies?
When my mother was young she had a dog. One day my Grandpa John told her and his other children that they could no longer afford to keep that dog. Being that they lived in a small western Kansas town, where the horizon is as flat as the sea and the winds wail at an average 25mph, he told them he would take the dog to a farmer nearby.
My grandpa was an undersheriff and knew many people and carried a weapon. He took that dog for a drive and it is rumored that it never made it to a farmers house. Rather he "let it go." If you can't put two and two together maybe you deserve to be shot. That dog sure didn't deserve to be shot. Grandpa was never a malicious man and what I experienced was that he was always kind and gentle. When my grandpa was young my grandma said he either drank laughin' whiskey or fightin' whiskey - you didn't want to be around him when he was drinking the latter. I think I am not dissimilar to this man - but at the same time I know I am much weaker.
My grandpa had a close friend that shot himself. Grandpa also died before my friend Josh did the same and so we never got to talk about it. Granpa was "on duty" when his friend was found. He had to go to his friend's house with the coroner, help him remove his friends body, and then clean up the mess for his friends wife. His friend had shot himself in the mouth with a shotgun. I never experienced any of this.
Grandpa John was an engineer in the army in the European theater during WWII. He was in charge of a small group of men, I am not sure what the group was called and I don't know what his rank was. When I was a child it had to be explained to me that engineers in the army didn't build things, rather they blew things up. He was commanding a group of newbies and they came under intense mortar and artillery fire. Everyone was ordered to split up and only himself and one other man did. Running away from the group he turned back to yell at them to split up again as he witnessed an artillery shell drop directly in the center of the group. Six men vanished from the face of the earth - only pieces were left. I have never experienced any of this.
I tried to take that dog I found to an animal shelter. They told me there was a 50% chance he would be euthanized. Why did I save this dog to take it to a place where there was a 50% chance of him being killed. I guess that is better than starving to death or being hit by a car.
My question is -- why can't I just take this dog out and shoot it? This is not a rhetorical question and none of these following questions are. Why are we all such a bunch of emotional pussies? Why is my friends death still incapcitating to me? - I didn't have to wipe his brains up off a wall like my grandfather did for his friend. I didn't have to carry his dead body out of his house. Why are we all a bunch of pussies?
posted by redwine at 8:43 AM
1 Comments:
I don't even know what to write about this. So true.
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