I suppose, on the one hand, that the kids in the neighborhood I grew up in would have described me as a wuss. I enjoyed sandlot football, but was generally more interested in pursuits that involved brains instead of brawn. On the other hand, I was a heartless bastard in some ways and perhaps even had a psychopathic tendency or two.

Whenever I got a new BB or pellet gun, anything in the backyard got shot. I really had no concern for the fact that I was taking the life of a critter that was just going about it's daily affairs and minding its own business. The little ranch house I grew up in backed up to what was then a private golf course, but apparently, the dues were pretty cheap in those days. Anyway, the guy who owned the course would let the folks whose houses bordered a fairway play a few holes in the late afternoon without paying. Accordingly, I was a decent golfer at one point in my life.

One pastime I occasionally enjoyed was toad golf. You'd be surprised at how far you could hit a toad with a 9 iron. The impact noise was quite interesting as well. The older I get, however, the more respect I have for all life, save for a few ragheads, libtards, niggers and elitists. (Did I just hear some heads exploding in the back ground?) In light of some of my stated past activities, you would think I would not have a problem putting my dog down. Think again.

My dog wandered up our driveway, he was just a puppy, around the middle ofthe summer of 1971 and I had to put him down toward the latter part of the summer of 1985. Although I have run into some women dog lovers, I think that there is a different kind of bond between dogs and men. My dog was a mutt. Probably a lab/golden retriever mix. He was a nice looking, medium-sized dog.  Since he was a puppy, I called him puppy---I was a kid at the time and not particularly creative, so, puppy it was.

The dog had no tags and I asked mom if I could keep him. She said she would leave the garage door open and if he was there in the morning I could have him. (Dad agreed with this) I fed him, if I recall correctly, a bologna sandwich and went to bed.Well, the dog was there in the morning and we were pretty much a team thereafter. Puppy was a kind hearted dog who was fiercely loyal, and I think even had a sense of humor.

Once a neighborhood kid and I were wrestling on the carpet in the den of our house and we were getting a bit rough. Puppy was laying down watching us and as the kid got progressively rougher with me, puppy would escalate his displeasure in equal measured gradients. He would start with a mild growl. Seeing that wasn't working, Puppy would growl a bit louder. I could almost sense what the dog was thinking. After the louder growl wasn't a sufficient attention getter, Puppy let out a louder growl, all while still laying down.

Finally, Puppy stood up and let out a growl about equal to his last one, but this time lifted his left lip to expose one of his fangs. (Kind of like Bill Clinton being able to cry a single tear out of only one eye) This still didn't work, so Puppy lets out another slightly louder growl and exposes both fangs. We were still wrestling pretty good. Finally, Puppy was at the point where he was like "look dick wad, stop giving my master a hard time or I'll have to rip your throat out and pee on your head." Puppy finally snapped to, let out a single good authoritative bark and play time was over.

The Bible says that God put enmity between a woman and a man, so I think men tend to really appreciate the unconditional love you can get from a dog. Dogs are always sad to see us go and always excited when we return.  They just lend a sympathetic ear to our complaits and never talk back. Anyway, I had fourteen really good years with that dog, but during the last couple of years of his life his hips gave out and he could just not get around.

We did all that was reasonable to help my dog, but I finally had to make the unbelievably sickening decision to put Puppy down. I went and had a chat with the vet, he'd had the same vet for 14 years and even his staff was upset about it. I decided to use lethal injection over the gas chamber and I'm glad I did. I also begged the vet for a good sedative so Puppy would be pretty much out of it by the time I got him to the vet's office.

I put the sedative in two large scoops of  vanilla ice cream and about half way through his final treat, crap--I can barely type this, he looked at me  with those big brown loving, yet sad eyes, and his shoulders drooped as if he knew what was coming. Hell, he did know what was coming. I drove him to the vet's office--the vet tech had to get him out of the car. She was getting watery eyed too. Anyway, I stayed with my dog until the end. 

I had to do it, but have never felt like a worse piece of shit in my life. R.I.P. Puppy.  I miss you.