ŷ������

First, this post is an update to . Read that one first before reading on.

Second, dog ownership can be graphic. This is all just biology to me, but if you are upset or scandalized reading about dog genitalia, this is not the post for you. For everyone else, read on��

Monday was Koda’s visit to his regular vet office for an examination and to talk about his TVT, the prognosis, treatment, etc. As a reminder, Canine Transmittable Venereal Tumor is a cancer transmitted from dog to dog during mating. Wikipedia tells me it’s also one of only three transmissible cancers in mammals. The other two occurring in Tasmanian devils and Syrian hamsters. TVT can also be passed along generationally, which is likely where he picked it up.

Koda was eager to jump in the back of the Jeep and visit the vet. (By “eager,�� I mean he puts his front paws on the bumper and waits for us to lift the old man into the back.)

We drove to the veterinarian’s office, which we’ve used before for Charmander and Ryder. This was Koda’s second visit there, so he had a new vet.

First off, let me explain why I love this vet. A., She grew up with German Shepherds, like me. And B., when I told her that Koda was a really old German Shepherd at thirteen, she shared that growing up she had two GSDs, one that got to be 14, and the other 16. The only reason the 16-year-old died was because her family used the dog to hunt water moccasins. !!! Yes, you can say I like the new vet. One of the things that I’ve struggled with past vets is that I was using my dogs in the woods and bayous every week, sometimes twice a week. The vets I was seeing were used to more suburban dog ownership. I was a little different and a bit of a challenge. But since this vet is used to dogs that are doing some pretty out-there activities, I know we’ll work along great. Also, I’d really like to hear more about dogs hunting water moccasins.

Koda, however, was of a different mind. After all, the vet wasn’t shining lights in my eyes and sticking things in my ears. I’ve gotten used to it, but Koda hates it. Then she checked his prostate. I sympathized with Koda. I’m in my mid-to-late forties. I know full-well the one-finger check-up. My last one was February. His last one was…last week. Poor guy!

For the second time in less than ten minutes, I heard something that got my attention. With a bit of surprise, she said, “He doesn’t have the prostate of a 13-year old dog.��

I nearly died. I’ve heard of telling a dog’s age by it’s teeth, but not its prostate. And I’m not saying I don’t believe the vet, just that you learn something new every day, and sometimes it’s something really new.

The good news is that the vet is not concerned with my dog slut’s STD. He has an infection on his penis and his paw, and that’s what she treated. If additional masses/lesions appear on his penis, then she will suggest we make an appointment with their oncologist. (BTW, I didn’t know veterinary practices had oncologists. I assumed your vet was essentially your oncologist because they sent off the biopsy.) For now, though, Koda is a healthy, active dog. We just gotta keep him from other dogs, which shouldn’t be much of a problem.

The downside is that Koda does have that new infection in the paw. She treated it, mostly by poking a Q-tip full of antibacterial in his infection. Koda wouldn’t have any of that, so I held him down and pinned his paw where she could work it. Because we’re still putting things away in the apartment and boxes are stacked in columns throughout our floor space, we decided against the cone of shame. We tried an ankle sock (pictured below), but it didn’t work. He isn’t licking it, though. The carpofen seems to be working.

Later that night, we went for a ride in the Jeep. As a bit of a reward (and a reminder that not all trips in the Jeep involve prostate exams), I put him in the backseat. We just drove around, seeing the sights in our new part of Houston. Koda chilled in the back, stared around the tire, and enjoyed himself.

Here’s to happy dogs, healthy prostates, and veterinarians with water moccasin-hunting dogs.

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This summer has already been pretty epic with the sale of our house and moving into an apartment. I think normally, that’d be the main headline of the summer, and we’d all take the rest of the season to move in and rest. But this summer is going to be full of events and, if it’s anything like our Spring, probably a dose of WTFery.

Monday, we take Koda to our regular vet to see about his cancer STD.

Friday, we leave for a giant-sized roadtrip. Seriously, this will be the longest road trip I’ve taken, and I’m including our New England trip that had us visiting something like 21 states between Texas and Vermont. We won’t do that number of states in one road trip ever again, but this summer will be something even better. We’re driving from Houston all the way up north to Glacier National Park, spending about a week there, then spending another week in Yellowstone/Grand Tetons before taking the slow road home. We will be on the road THREE WHOLE WEEKS.

I’m excited and I can’t wait to go. Not just because we haven’t traveled in a while. We’ve visited state parks throughout the pandemic. But this one’s different. This is our 2020 trip, version 2.0. We planned this trek in Summer 2019, and now that it is summer 2021, we can finally go there! I plan to write updates as much as WIFI will allow, talking about the national parks, the hikes, the views, and all the places we are planning to stay and a few where we’re just winging it.

After all that fun and adventure, we will return home to our new apartment roughly in mid-July. By then, the full Perro Chupacabra novella should be out to the newsletter folks. I am also working on a couple of Zombie Dog short stories for my Patrons. (But don’t worry, I’ll post them to my newsletter a few weeks to a month later.)

I am waiting on the return from the epic trek to begin the next Zombie Dog book. I have so many ideas and directions I can take it. I will use the vacation time to reduce that down to the core story so that I can begin the rough draft.

At the same time, I’m working with a team on the cover for Murder Dog, which I hope to share with you in July.

Murder Dog is still holding steady, tentatively scheduled for a September release.

I am sure between now and then, a few off-the-wall things will happen. That’s been par for course for my family for a while now, but far be it for me to try to prognosticate what will ensue. What happens, happens, and if it’s remotely interesting, I’ll probably post it here or on my social medias. (Link on main page.)

Hey, thank you for reading and I hope you’re enjoying my posts. I write the Zombie Dog books, which you can find both digitally and paperback. I also have a Patreon account . Supporters get perks like reading my short stories for free.

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What is the last thing you want to happen on the last day before you are out of the house? You’re going to say “poltergeist,�� and I hear you, but something a little more day-to-day is what I’m thinking, like the power being switched off by the power company. For three hours my beautiful wife was working in 90+ degree heat with no power in the house. Brutal! But she had the fortitude (and the deadline) pushing her. June 10, power goes out. June 11, we close. We still have cleaning and items to remove. Mrs. Bad Ass is doing it all, taking quick showers to cool her down.

And did I mention she’s doing this on her birthday? Ugh!

!!!

Frantically, I called the electric company to correct this, but I got stonewalled. There was nobody who could help or would help. The process takes 24 hours to cycle through. I explained the heat, the birthday, the one day, and nothing. I ask to speak to a manager. My account supervisor says there’s nobody higher to talk to. They then try to sell me on upgrading my power plan.

In the midst of my calamity, their response was to ask for more money. Let that sink in.

I can’t help it. I laugh. “We can deal with getting y’all more money later. Right now I just need power to the house.��

They provide me clinically sanitized apologies for my dilemma and restate there is nothing they can do. I was furious. Not at the customer service rep “account supervisor.�� I get all that. I’m mad at the company for a process that doesn’t allow for such contingencies. Check that, I’m furious at the company. I hang up, apologize profusely to my wife for her horrible conditions. She’s still working in the devil’s armpit.

A couple hours later, the power comes on.

Again, !!!

Did my pleading and begging chisel away the bureaucracy to get through to the caramel goodness on the inside? That’d be cool, but I doubt it.

Andrea told the new owners (via our agent) about the situation. Perhaps they were able to get power started early, but if they’re using the same power company, I doubt that. They probably would’ve been steamrolled with the same nonsense we got. Probably. Maybe. The truth is, I don’t know.

What I do know is that I’m elated. The H in Houston is for Humidity and Heat, and June 10 was one of those scorching, wet days. Devil’s armpit, cow’s butt, fish-in-the-face sauna days. Air conditioning is a God-send. I’ve heard Houston described as the capitol of air conditioning, and there’s a reason for that. I’m glad whatever happened happened, whether it was because of the power company starting early for the new owners or my pleas going through.

I do have my own theory, though, which is that the power had to be cut in the morning to transfer to the new owners. I don’t know anything about electricity companies, but it feels right to me. If you work at an electric company, maybe you can suggest a better answer.

The lesson learned is clear. If you’re moving this summer, extend electricity in the house by a couple days. If you close July 4, keep electricity through the 5th or 6th. Sure, you’ll pay a little more, but at least you’ll have electricity.

This is the second time this year we’ve gone without electricity. The first was the Great Texas Freeze, and it was a good reminder of how much we need electricity. Two days ago was another reminder of the power of Edison’s design and how much it props up the world on its back. I think to be able to generate your own electricity without a reliance on grids and companies is something we should all work on. A wind turbine in every home kind of thing. What do you think?

For now, we are here. We’ve arrived. Only a few more boxes need to be brought into the apartment. That part of the journey is over.

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Wednesday was another day of work followed by an evening late night of hauling things to the apartment and into storage. But that’s not what I’ll remember most about you, Wednesday. No, it’s the kill van we rented.

Other cargo vans have looked at least decent, if humble. You, kill van, made me a serial killer stalking the streets at midnight, searching for souls to steal gasoline and dropping off boxes filled with body parts books and random household items.

I’d been warned that at the storage unit, I had to call ahead or the security guard would come speak to me to make sure I’m not up to something strange. Why the security guard didn’t come looking for murdered teenagers, I don’t know. Surely, with a van like that, that’s what we’re doing with it, right? Moving them into storage?

And while I didn’t have a set of butcher’s knives or a chainsaw, I did have a set of steak knives from Target. That’s still terrifying, isn’t it? Looking for comments from Michael Myers and Leatherface here. Buffalo Bill, too.

So here’s to you, haunted kill van with your doors that never closed or opened, your mirror that didn’t work, and your internal lights that only worked when you allowed it. Were you the spirit of Christine? Are you the receptacle for a spirit that really likes to feel every bump on the road? (I’m saying that as a Jeep owner.) Also, please don’t be a haunted murder car.

Other vans would have been helpful, easy to use maybe, but you, Kill Van, you were a $45 muse that will haunt my memories long after I returned you to the rental company.

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Okay, not a flood. God knows we hear too much of that in Houston for me to tease that. But this move has been an experience with more twists than the Snake River, and one of them came up yesterday when we were taking things to the climate-controlled storage unit.

About two months ago Mrs. Bad Ass rented a storage unit out in Katy. The goal was to put things in there that needed some climate control. Because we live in Houston along the coast, we preferred Katy because of less flooding. The unit was on the second floor, too, so no water concerns. And the items we were putting in there were things that would suffer the most from water damage. Books, paintings, taxidermy, etc.

Since May, Houston has been inundated with rain. It’s our rainy season, and it lasts from May to June. Some people hate it because it is days and days of rain with no relief from gray skies and at least a sprinkle. Often thunderstorms roll through. And when the rain stops, it’s done. We won’t see anything until August. I’ve learned that the rains are a blessing. They keep temperatures down. When the rain stops early, summer is going to be an extra layer of heat.

After one of the first storms, we drove up to the storage unit to drop off a few more items.

For the second floor, that’s a lot of water. Apparently there was a roof leak that drained through the third floor and hit the second floor as well. The damage was not horrendous. The main thing it destroyed was one old Christmas tree and our satisfaction with the storage facility, which didn’t help us, didn’t call us back for days, and then agreed to help us move our items into a new unit, only to the day of say they never said such a thing. Basically, they couldn’t give two shits about the predicament they caused. So on at least two days, after a weekend of working around the clock moving furniture and being thoroughly exhausted, I got to spend my Sunday evening removing all items from the one unit and replacing them back in, then another weekend moving all items from one end of the storage unit and moving them to the other side. Seriously, I hate this place. If it weren’t for the fact that we’re in the middle of the move, my desire would’ve been to remove all our belongings and tell them to stick it.

At least two paintings, one of which is pictured above, we did bring back home with us. I refuse to trust these people with those paintings. Neither one of them are of immense value, but they are both sentimental to my wife and I.

In summary: In the middle of our “move,�� we dealt with a flood on the second floor of a building to protect our belongings from the one thing the facility was supposed to protect it from.

But I want to end this on a positive note and bring it back to yesterday, when we were in the facility (nothing water-damaged) and Mrs. Bad Ass was re-organizing the closet. See, yours truly did the first move. I was in a mode, and I took everything from one closet and shoved it in the other. It was not organized well, probably because I was dead tired when I did it. So today my wife organized it much better. She has mad re-org skills, y’all. This woman is the Queen of Tetris, if Tetris wasn’t a video game but real life.

The weekend moves are complete, though. The next step is the moving company arrives Tuesday morning to move all the large items. Tuesday night, we should be in our new apartment, and then the house closes Friday! (Fingers crossed.)

Hey, thank you for reading and I hope you’re enjoying my posts. I write the Zombie Dog books, which you can find both digitally and paperback. I also have a Patreon account . Supporters get perks like reading my short stories for free.

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For the past few months, we’ve been selling the house. We met real estate agents back in March, with the hopes of putting the house on the market in April. Since then, selling the house has consumed our lives. Home repairs, painting (Remember the Texas Freeze? We weren’t prepared because we were painting our bedroom the weekend before), replacing the carpet, more painting…we put so much work into the house. I’m sure our move looked like anyone else’s ever except that our was covered in Lysol and masks due to the pandemic. One day there’ll be photos of us directing movers, all masked up like we’re in the middle of a ninja movie. “The Ninja Years,�� that’s what they’ll call us. “Remember back in 2020, when the world was populated by ninjas?�� Ransom Riggs�� great-grandson will write a whole series about us. “Mrs. Peregrine’s House of Ninjas.��

Strangely, at the same time that we ninjas were preparing our house, the house seemed to be having issues of its own. The day we put the house on the market, the air conditioner conked out. The toilet had to be replaced a couple weeks before. At one point, I felt like Spider-Man in Homecoming, holding two the sides of the ferry boat together with all his webs.

The market was C-R-A-Z-Y. We recieved offers, we accepted, and today we are moving more items into storage. (Yesterday we trucked small furniture and boxes into the apartment.) We actually have two storage units �� one climate controlled closet and one climate-uncontrolled garage. We need the extra space due to downsizing from a 4-2.5 house to a 2-2 apartment while we figure out our next move. I’ve moved before, but always to an equal-or-larger unit or a house. I’ve never downsized before. It has its own challenges, mostly deciding what ninja tools to keep. If it still has functionality or use, we keep it. If it’s something that’s kinda broken but can probably be fixed, we don’t.

We have four gates that every items passes through, one for each member of the family. If an item can go through all four gates without being selected, then it goes into the donate/trash piles. And it’s interesting because when you start, there’s a lot of sentiment. Items might make it past one or two gates, but rarely all four. But in the last 48 hours? Those gates are wide open and anything can get through!

This week is (fingers-crossed) our last week in the house. I’m dubbing it “Goodman’s Week of Tetris and Advil�� because every day will be something, and that something will have to fit into the schedule perfectly or the whole thing’s blown. I’d say all those years of playing Tetris are paying off, but I was never very good at Tetris. (Maybe I should have played more.)

To give you an example, this is what the Good Move schedule looks like so far: Friday we dropped off our son for summer camps. Saturday and Sunday we are moving what we can physically handle. Tuesday the movers haul the rest. Wednesday, the buyers close on their previous house. Wednesday and Thursday we will be cleaning our house and settling everything into the apartment. Friday, we close.

For our weekend move, Mrs. Bad Ass rented a Ford Transit cargo van. The big upgrade from the previous one she rented is that the Transit has rear windows so I can see out of the back. I’ve driven vehicles without a rearview window before, but having one feels more comfortable. Not necessary, but comfortable. On the downside, all the internal hooks rest along the floors. When stacking furniture against the wall, this isn’t very helpful. We made it work by Tetrising yet more furniture against the other furniture. If we’d been loading bed frames, we would’ve required more creative solutions. Fortunately, the ninjas had already moved the bed frames.

The key to yesterday was two-fold. First, remember that I’m not 25, and our new apartment was on the second floor. There were several items we originally wanted to haul that I decided against. They were just too heavy! Because we own a piano and a giant wall unit, we had to hire a moving company anyways. They’ll get all the heavy/big items and probably some of the boxes as well. That’ll include the cubby I vetoed.

The other key was pacing and breaks. The saying is that you never know how much crap you own till you try to move. So when you have tons of crap, make sure you have a big shovel and a clothing pin for your nose, right? Thankfully we didn’t need a clothing pin, but in this case the shovel was our ever-faithful dolly cart. We bought this dolly on the other side of the millenium, but it’s the best $60 I ever spent. It helps out moving items around the house, and it’s been crucial to every move we’ve made since leaving Illinois in ��99. My tip is that everyone should buy one. They always come in handy, and chances are you’re going to move eventually, right? Or somebody else is going to need your help moving, perhaps a friend or your kids.

I’m not going to lie. Yesterday wasn’t easy. We’re moving in Houston, and the H in Houston is for Humidity. Humidity + stairs is a bad combination, even when the load is light. We finished around 6, we drank a hundred gallons of water, and we passed out. Today, because we’re apparently the kind of ninjas who want more pain, we’re going to repeat it all again, except today’s runs will be directed at storage instead of new residences.

I’m tired just thinking about it all. But life is an adventure, and this is just another adventure (albeit one that will probably never get its own movie trilogy). Hopefully later this week I can report back with wonderful stories and no misadventures. (I’d like to think we’ve already met our quota for moving misadventures…more on them later.)

Hey, thank you for reading and I hope you’re enjoying my posts. I write the Zombie Dog books, which you can find both digitally and paperback. I also have a Patreon account . Supporters get perks like reading my short stories for free.

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There’s a Def Leppard song that goes “Love bites, love bleeds.�� While Def Leppard was writing the sentiments of a spurned ex-lover, the song feels strangely appropriate to our poor old dog. When my daughter woke up yesterday, Koda was waiting at the bottom of the stairs. There were blood drops on the floor. Not splatter like in a horror movie, but just lots of drops. It was obvious he was bleeding from his penis at one point in the night, but he was no longer bleeding.

My wife let me sleep. God bless that amazing woman. I didn’t have the best night’s sleep, so waking up early to a minor incident probably wouldn’t’ve been in everybody’s best interest. And this wasn’t an emergency. Koda wasn’t still bleeding, and he wasn’t anxious or in pain.

After I woke up and was briefed, we rerouted our daily activities and took Koda to the vet.

This is the part where I should mention that we’ve sold our house and we’re moving into an apartment for the time being. So saying the Goodman household is crazy busy is the biggest understatement since somebody first declared the Galveston beach water “kinda brown.�� (YOU CAN’T SEE THROUGH THE WATER.)

Koda was overjoyed to get in the back of the Jeep and go for a ride. I think it’s his favorite activity. That dog LOVES to ride. And when we got to the vet, he was ecstatic. He’s meeting new people, smelling new smells, getting his doggie nose on. Koda is all smiles. Then the vet tech takes him back for his exam.

When Koda returns to us, he’s no longer happy. He is ready to go.

He’s turning around in the room, seeking support and pets from me and Mrs. Badass, and his face is full of anxiety. Dude is ready to go, and we’re not getting the point. In fact, we sit around for another half hour, if not longer. Stupid humans! But in our defense, we still needed to hear the verdict from the vet. I suspected he’d been probed for a fecal ’cause we’re all thinking some kind of UTI thing is going on.

We weren’t just wrong. We were Aaron Burr wrong.

When the vet came in, we expected her to talk about prostates and white blood cells and an infection. We expected antibiotics. Instead, the vet asked the most out-of-left field question.

“Where did you get Koda?��

Um, okay��

“We don’t know. We adopted him from my brother.��

“Do you know where he got the dog?��

“No. It’s never come up, and we’ve never asked. We’ve owned Koda for about four and a half years now.��

“Do you know if he came from a breeder? Do you know if the breeder was in Mexico or South America?��

What the f?

I don’t know how many times I can give her the same answer, but I’m trying. My wife and I are really curious as to why we’re getting this line of questioning. No diagnosis, no verdict, just where did we get the dog? For some reason I’m thinking of puppy mills, and I know that’s a bad thing, but I’ve got no idea how that connects to Koda’s UTI. And the dog’s so old, when he’d been born nobody knew what an Instagram or a Lady Gaga is. So where are we going with this?

“Koda has Canine Transmissible Venereal Tumor, or TVT.��

Four words there made no sense to me. I latch on to the last one.

“T�ܳ��ǰ�����

The vet explains that Koda had lesions on his penis. She collected some cells and examined them under the microscope. (No wonder the big klutz was ready to go �� he’d had his penis scraped AND his prostrate checked!) She saw a lot of white blood cells, so there’s a secondary infection party going on, but she also saw some other oblong cells with nuclei, and that’s likely cancer.

Cancer?

“TVT is usually transmitted through a lineage, and it’s uncommon in the United States. You usually find it south of the border, in Mexico or South America.��

She explains that Koda will be given antibiotics and Carprofen (doggie pain killer), and that in 10 to 14 days we should follow up with his regular vet to have him tested for TVT and begin chemotherapy.

In my head I’m thinking “Can we get back to a UTI?�� We brought him in because of blood dripping from his penis. It was probably due to a lesion breaking.

She explains the main symptom is redness on the penis and the lesions. Sometimes the lesions can get on the nose or in the mouth, but that’s not the main mode of transmission. It’s an STD.

This is all very confusing, and even though we’re all wearing masks I’m sure she can see the confusion all over my face, so she asks if we have any questions. I really want to go through the story with her to make sure I understand, so I say, “Let me get this straight. Koda has an STD, a sexually transmitted disease. He likely has had it since birth because it was probably passed on from his parents, but he could have picked it up having sex with another dog. This STD can cause cancerous tumors to appear on his penis, and it’s likely only exhibiting now because he’s an old GSD with a reduced immune system. Is that correct.��

Yes.

YOU DOG! You picked up an STD!

So Koda, a.k.a. I Am The Brute Squad, a.k.a. The Fireman, a.k.a. Slutty Brute Fireman, is currently enjoying chicken wafers twice a day with Enrofloxacin and Carprofen included. The antibiotics he will take for 30 days because the infection could be in his prostrate (he didn’t have a prostrate problem but just to be sure), and that takes longer to soak into. Canine TVT is a very treatable form of cancer.

In our family, one of the mantras for the past two to three months has been “one day at a time�� or as my wife started saying after reading Charlaine Harris, “Sufficient unto the day is the evil within.�� In my life, it seems this aphorism should be modified: “Sufficient unto the day is the dog within.��

Hey, thank you for reading and I hope you’re enjoying my posts. I write the Zombie Dog books, which you can find both digitally and paperback. I also have a Patreon account . Supporters get perks like reading my short stories for free.

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What do you think of that foal? Crazy, right?

Now that Part One of Perro Chupacabra has been sent to my and the full manuscript has been sent to my , I wanted to share a little of the research that went into the story, particularly the Paso Finos. In Perro Chupacabra, Paso Finos take Angie Graves, the tracker named Moncho, and the two-person film crew into El Yunque National Forest to hunt chupacabras.

Paso Finos are Puerto Rican horses known for their gait and their ability to glide across the landscape. I liken their gait to “ballerinas on speed metal,�� and I submit as proof the two YouTube clips in this post. Paso Finos are light to the step, yet SO FAST! Like tap dancers in fast-forward, or maybe even millipedes, but obviously more charming.

Another interesting tidbit about the Puerto Rican Paso Fino is that they are the only horse breed with tiger’s eyes (some people call them goat’s eyes). I hope you enjoy these videos (and possibly learning about a different horse breed), and that maybe this adds a bit of trivia to Perro Chupacabra. Happy Friday, everyone!

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It isn’t about having everything. It’s about having the right things. Earlier this week, my daughter came home from work (she is a dog bather) with a brand new toy for Koda. I was skeptical at first because the heathens had always preferred trash and sticks to actual toys unless they’d destroyed the toys and turned them to actual trash. So, either it is pretty and cool and they ignore it, or they obliterate it.

You can see the toy in the photo below. I’m not doing a product review, but I will provide some information. This toy is a . (See photo below for it in action.) The Tug-O-War is a double-ring about two or two and a half feet long. As far as toys go, it fits well into his mouth. A lot of toys are too tiny and end up rubbing against his lips or banging against his cheeks. The Tug-O-War has a fluffy touch, which I’ve been dubious about, but it’s still surviving. Each ring has two squeakies, and at least one of those hasn’t been crushed yet, but they aren’t very loud. That’s a positive. And it is blue, which you know by its namesake, but it’s really more like blue kinda-camo, with streaks of gray and black. The coloring is important to me. It means this toy will show up in grass. (Dogs see blue but not really green.)

Koda parading around with his new joy.

Does Koda love it? Hell, yes. I had no idea how much he would dig the Tug-O-War. He constantly brings it to me shaking it around and hoping play fetch, and he loves to show off his head-swinging, flesh-ripping abilities with that cute little fluff-ring.

Total aside, my family is in the process of selling the house and looking for a new place to live. That means decluttering, carpets being replaced, and things being put into storage. It makes my wife wonder how we accumulated so much stuff. You really start to ask yourself what is junk and what should be kept. You make sure that what is being moved from one house to the next is the right thing �� it fits you and your lifestyle. This kind of talk always makes me think of the expression, it’s not having what you want but wanting what you have. (Coincidentally, I only hear Sheryl Crowe in my head singing that line cause I’m gonna soak up the sun.)

Koda WANTS what he has. He’s a dog, so he doesn’t have much, but that toy is at the top of his list. It brings him utter joy, and it makes me think I can do better about wanting what I have, about asking whether or not something really adds to my life or my joy. I think that’s something to improve upon. Wanting what I have, and being more like my dog.

Hey, thank you for reading and I hope you’re enjoying my posts. I write the Zombie Dog books, which you can find both digitally and paperback. I also have a Patreon account . Supporters get perks like reading my short stories for free.

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I needed to take a few days because I’ve been trying to think of a proper way to eulogize Ryder. I’ve written about her life, bringing her home, and the decision to euthanize. I didn’t realize writing about the day of her death would be much harder.

The home euthanasia was scheduled for 5pm. This was a Sunday, so we made arrangements with a local veterinarian’s office to leave Ryder’s body for cremation after the home euthanasia.

Some wondered if making the appointment so late in the day was tougher because it gave us the day to dwell on what was going to happen. I’m not so sure, for two reasons. First, we were very busy that day. We’re preparing to sell our house, and the carpet was to be replaced that next week, so our household was a flurry of activity. I think that staying busy keeps your mind off the waiting. Second, when we euthanized Mojo three or four years ago, we did it early in the morning. The rest of the day was a complete wreck, full of contemplation and deep sighs. By holding the euthanasia later in the day, we avoided spending the rest of the day mourning.

Not that it wasn’t still sad and everybody in the household was in tears.

Speaking of the busy day, several times I suggested my son go spend time with his dog. My daughter was already outside. She totally cut off her schedule and spent the last few hours sitting with Ryder in the backyard. My son joined her a little while after. I’m glad he did that. I don’t know if Ryder was his dog, but one thing was for certain. German Shepherds tend to select one person in the family and tie themselves to their hip. They very much choose an owner, and it doesn’t always mean the person with the food bowl.

Ryder was an eccentric dog. When she came to us, my son was a toddler. Still, of all the people in the world, she’d made her decision. This toddler was her person.

That toddler is a young teen now. When Mojo died, he was still in the single digits. I gave him the choice to be present for Mojo’s euthanasia, and he didn’t feel comfortable being there. He decided to be here for Ryder, and it’s one of the best decisions he could have made.

For those who haven’t held a home euthanasia, I will give a brief overview. The veterinarian administers two shots. The first is a sedative. The second stops the heart. The sedative takes up to ten minutes to take effect. The actual euthanizing shot works very quickly.

The veterinarian who took care of our euthanasia, Dr. Christy, is a tall, kind woman with a professional mourner’s soft affect. Her goal that day was doing everything necessary to make Ryder’s euthanasia as calm and easy as possible for Ryder. Immediately she could tell that Ryder was skittish and nervous having this stranger in the house. For Ryder’s sake, she administered the first dose quickly and thoroughly. Then Dr. Christy left the house. She told us every dog reacts a little differently to the sedative. Some dogs go down hard and quick. Others take the full ten minutes. She suspected because of Ryder’s anxiety, it’d take longer for the sedative to affect her.

I will say this for Ryder. She was a German Shepherd to the last. With all of us in the center of the room, Ryder was more concerned with the intrusion of this stranger into the household, the territory. She followed the veterinarian to the door, watched her from the windows, and then she walked the perimeter one last time.

She got as far as the door to the backyard. She sat down next to my son in full alert, ears cocked high, eyes locked on the backyard. I don’t think she wanted out. I think she wanted to verify nobody was coming in, and then the drugs hit her system.

The vet service recommended placing a mat underneath the dog. I carefully laid out a blanket for her to lie down on, but in walking the perimeter, Ryder went everywhere except the blanket I’d set out, and you know what? Good for her. She chose her last spot to be in the sun where she loved to sleep for hours, and to be beside her person. How poetic and beautiful is that?

Under golden light, Ryder spent her last moments with her favorite person. Him being at her side is what she would have wanted. I didn’t know that until then. He was very brave to stay with her. Ryder’s butt slid back, she laid down, and she slipped into her final sleep. When my children were ready, Dr. Christy returned to the room, and again when they were ready, the veterinarian proceeded with the final shot.

My children spent as long as they needed mourning their pet. My wife and I consoled them, then we went upstairs. My wife called the vet clinic to let them know we would be there shortly. I wanted to give my kids a few moments of privacy. When they were ready, they came upstairs, and my wife and I loaded Ryder into the Jeep and drove our beloved dog to the clinic.

As we drove, we were quiet. Full of reminiscence. A few thoughts occurred to me. I thought of the nervous dog who loathed riding in cars, especially the Jeep. God, she hated being in the back. I was glad that she didn’t have to be around for one last trip in the back of the Jeep. Again, I was thankful for the home euthanasia. Many people talk about it as being easier on the family, but both times we did it because it was easiest on the dog. Not having to make that final trek, not having to die in a cold, strange place. Not every dog has this option, but if we could do it, it seemed right.

We often say of the dead “they look so peaceful.�� It was true here, too, but not for the same reason. I saw something in Ryder’s final moments that I hadn’t seen, or really thought about, since Mojo’s euthanasia. Once that powerful sedative took hold, her back and leg muscles relaxed to a degree I hadn’t seen in a long time. It was a final confirmation of the amount of Ryder’s pain. Those muscles were always tensed up, even when she was relaxing. She was making up for the arthritis and holding up her back through muscular will. With those final shots, Ryder was finally without pain.

I don’t know if all dogs go to heaven. I don’t know if dogs have a soul or if that is the product of over a hundred years of breeding to humanize them. Some people believe that when you go to heaven, all your dogs come out to meet you. My daughter, who is one of the funniest people you will ever meet, said that now another dog was waiting for us at the rainbow bridge. She added, “and Mojo is PISSED cause he has to spend time with Ryder again.��

There’s as much truth to that as any truth, I guess. If she is up there, she’s probably patrolling the gates to heaven, walking her perimeter. I hope that her mind is at peace. I hope that she isn’t scared anymore. I hope that she is happy.

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