If you’re new here, don’t fret. This isn’t about how I’m some Islamic fundamentalist with a sawed-off coming to take your Drumpf-given rights. In fact I’m not much for organized religions nor firearms. But I am about love. And dogs. This is about a dog a love.
When I bought my first house, I then got a dog. I found this pup on Elmwood and Hodge in Buffalo when she was 5 or 6 weeks old. She fit in the palm of my hand. I gave the 12 year old kid selling puppies $50 and some hip hop CDs and my new home had a door bell whilst I (along with a preverbal tribe of misfits) got the best friend any human could conceive. An almost all black mutt, we named her Isis, after a mythological goddess. I’ve actually blogged about her years ago, and this post would be way too long if I went anymore in depth about her bawesome-ness.
Isis (my phone requires 5 tries to type that word) lived the best 16 years you could give a living thing and 15.5 of it was active and amazing. I ended her suffering on February 1st 2018, but a piece of her has been with me for every mile of this journey. Some of her remains are this vial and zip tied right up front for the best view possible. A fantastic running partner, I’ve imagined her sprinting alongside me on the Natchez Trace, her tongue hanging out and her eyes looking at me like, “yo dawg, when the fuck are we gonna take a break?” What an emotional rush that was. It get very real in the time and place. It’s happened several times since then and each time the tears give me nothing but strength. I’m so thankful she could be there in that moment and riding shotty the entire time.
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