If I were a Dog

I'll TELL YOU how my fucking Thanksgiving went.

I live four separate lives right now. One is at college, one is at home, and one is with my high school friends, and one is on the internet. The one I live at home is a sick, twisted bastardization of what I expected it would be as a child. The few friends I had remained in contact with made wrong turns in their lives. This made me expect Thanksgiving at home to be awkward.

We had our family friends from across the street come to our house, since my relatives are people we don't keep in contact with. But I like it better this way anyway.

I expected it to be awkward, but it turned out all right. We laughed about our experiences in school, and everyone got along great, as we always do.

We finished dinner at about 5PM. We gave our three dogs a little bit of everything that was on the dining room table, because we love them and spoil them. After this, we were joking around when my dog Mophie (originally named "Sophie") started yowling in pain. We rushed over to the family room, where she lay moaning.

Both families gathered around her petting her and trying to comfort her. We scrambled to try and find out what was wrong, but about 40 seconds later I was comforted to find that she stopped grieving. Little did I know that I was supposed to be the one grieving at that point.

Her tongue hung out of her mouth.

She stopped breathing.

The two dads and I rolled her onto a beach blanket, and she was carried out.

My mom, an avid animal lover, took it the hardest by far.

It ruined the rest of out night. But I started thinking--if I were a dog, what would I want as the last thing I do before I die?
I would want food. GOOD food. Like a Thanksgiving dinner.
Well, that's exactly what happened. So I guess if she had to go, this was a good time for her to do it: right after eating a Thanksgiving meal.

RIP Mophie 11/26/09 5:12 PM