A plea for mercy on the Fourth of July

As everyone knows, I like dogs much better than people. See here for Elvis, Zoey and our “dog in the box.”  I also know that the Fourth of July wouldn’t be the same without fireworks.  Indeed, when Keller went off to college we found a whole stash of fireworks under his bed–I would have much preferred dirty magazines.  Anyway, here is my plea for mercy for my dog friends: Remember that every time you fire off one of those damn things, some poor dog goes batshit.

Photo credit: Courtesy Tampa Bay Humane Society.  See also 5 tips to help your pets during the Fourth of July fireworks

Photo credit: Tampa Bay Humane Society. See also here for tips on how to help your dog when your neighbors act like assholes.

So, shoot ’em off if you must, but as the sun sets and evening comes on the Fourth, drink your beer, eat your burger, but stop torturing my friends. Recall what Will Rogers said, “If there are no dogs in Heaven, then when I die I want to go where they went.” If you absolutely must satisfy some base need for cruelty, give your sniveling little kid or small grand child a hot sparkler. That’s when the fun on the Fourth really begins.

RGK

 

Elvis, Zoey and the dog in the box

Elvis

Elvis

Most mornings, I get up early.  I often visit the dog friends, Elvis and Zoey.  They live across the fence.

We don’t have a dog, although we did once.  More on that in a moment.  My wife has a full pantry of dog treats for Elvis and Zoey.  So, most mornings, the dog friends can be found looking through the fence and into our kitchen window waiting for someone to come out and give them their breakfast bones.

Zoey

Zoey

We probably should get a dog.  We had one for a very long time.  Our dog lived for something like 19 years–incredible.  Near the end, my wife took to feeding the poor thing with a syringe of water and baby food spread on bread.

When it came time to “put her down” (how I detest that phrase), I took off work and my wife and I carried her to the vet.  She slipped away in our arms.  I cried for the first time in a very long time.

We couldn’t bear the thought of sticking her in the ground.  So, after she was cremated, we put her remains in a box.   The box sits in our study next to the little pinewood derby car our son made in Cub Scouts.

Dog in the box

Dog in the box

Some things are more important than others.

RGK

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