Tuesday, February 9, 2010

My Furry Brother

There are a lot of things one would like to hear on their father's birthday:

-"Time for cake!"

-"Instead of presents I thought I'd get you all a gift and take you on a family vacation!" (Still waiting for that one to happen.)
-"Don't use your money to buy me a gift, here, take my cred
it card."
-"I don't need any gifts, save your money or better yet, buy yourself a gift." (Consequently for my dad's birthday I got myself a trip to Korea.)

The one thing you don't want to hear:
"B.J. [our family dog] has lymphoma and 6-12 we
eks to live."

Now that sucks. And it sucks more because yesterday I started writing a post about how babies are like dogs, or more specifically how T.B. is like B.J. I'll still post it once finished, mostly because it's true, but it still sucks. I love my dog even though he barks at me to feed him (even when I'm not eating). My parents' nest will truly be empty soon--although probably never fully rid of dog hair. I knew this would come one day but it was just like other things you know are going to come but never fully hit you until they actually arrive (kind of like my college graduation). My parents always called B.J. "my furry brother," mostly because it was funny but he has been a part of our family for nearly 13 years, so it is sad for us (I mean my mom cried when she gave away our Volvo station wagon calling it, "The Giving Car," like Shell Silverstein's "The Giving Tree," so we get attached to our things).

And, in some sort of cruel joke, (cruelty in the fact that my French teacher gives me comic books to read) I picked up the one she had recently given me (Boule & Bill, a famous French comic about a boy and his dog) and the title is, "Mon meilluer ami" (my best friend). I think I ought to go back to reading trashy French gossip magazines.

B.J. & I at home during Christmas 2009

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