Biggie ©

This past week has been a roller coaster of emotion.
I haven’t had time to stop and slow down.
This last year has been brutal to my family but this last week shook it from the roots.

I had the funeral for my Aunts father and on its eve an uncle passed away, funeral was Saturday.
Just before the news of the death my aunt and mothers best friend and sister in law was told her cancer has returned just a month after finishing radiation that was follow up to the surgery just before Christmas.

Death and dieing has become a regular topic among my parents lately and it’s putting everyone on edge.
My parents are in and close to their eighties and constantly remind us that their time is almost done.
I mean at least once and hour we are told.
If they live for another twenty years, that’s a lot of hours.

It’s hard going to these funerals; I stand there looking at people I have known all my life, older.
The reception after is attended by the old people mostly; a handful of young are here, they have better things to do.

I watch them mull around talking remembering the times they all had with the departed.
The picnics we had as kids where 50 cars would gather at the break of dawn in the church parking lot to form a convoy of Greeks who drove 100 miles on mass to some national park to be together and have fun.

I watch but in my mind the clock goes back thirty years.
This room was where Greeks used to gather before the hall was built.
This is where we all gathered for parties and other gatherings.
The room was always filled with people with little or no room to move.
I see these people; younger with their kids at their feet laughing, remembering what used to make them happy when they were children.
As the years to the past pass through my mind into today this same room, which held so many, is almost empty now.

On Saturday I did some pet sitting what might become a permanent thing by the looks of it.
Or in other words I may have a new member to the family which I am sure will not make Frick to happy but hey, he needs a little exercise to.

Over the years I have had a few pets but never as a kid.
My father used to say people of farms had animals and people in the city had kids who belong on a farm.
When I was about six I asked him for a dog, he got up and went into the kitchen and when he came back he handed me a broom.
He told me this was my dog now and I should take it for a walk all over the house and when I was done, to take the cat and vacuum the carpet.

The first pet I had was Sammy, a Keeshond; I kinda stole him from the mayor.
You see I went to the pet store to have a look and there was this cute little fucker smashing his face up against the glass.
Reminded me of missing last call on a Friday night.
I asked the desk clerk about the dog and he said that the male was sold but the female was not.
There was another dog in there to but man was it ugly, there were going to have that dog for a long time.

I went around and picked up the dog and looked to see if it was the male or female.
I had to really look because he was just one big fur ball but the dog I liked was the male.
The GF said, “I could take the other one.
Fuck that, don’t get me wrong, if they were going to put that dog down I would have taken him home without a second thought but this wasn’t the case.
I walked to the counter with a straight face and told the clerk I wanted this puppy.
He asked me if it was the female and I held the dog up showing him the pile of fur and he said ok.
Twit
I paid him and walked out the door with the Male dog who was named Sammy by the time we got home.
Sammy and I had many adventures together over the next twenty years.

But the story with the mayor isn’t over.
A week later I got a phone call telling me that they had made a mistake and sold me the wrong dog.
I had to give them my name and number, Sammy was a pure breed from champion stock and I had him registered.

I told them I wasn’t going to give back the dog.
I paid for him and I was keeping him.
Two days later the phone rang and this time it was the mayor.
He offered me a generous sum of money for the dog to cover the cost of having him and his purchase.
As I was sitting there talking, Sammy was pulling the fridge door open so he could go in and keep cool.

I told the mayor the same thing I told the store but I did tell him there was another dog at the store he could have.

Sammy was the first last dog I owned but not the only dog.
There was Sasha, an Alaskan malamute who I had with me for seven years before she went off to be with my FIL in the country.
Then there was Mikie who I found wandering the streets one night.
Mikie was a Belgian longhaired Shepard and according to the vet was ten months and already a hundred pounds, a fucken horse.
Mikie was the first one to end up going to the bush with my FIL and when I went up there for a visit once he looked like a bear.

So Saturday I watched a dog I may end up owning.
It’s not like I want a dog; I am a cat person, you don’t have to get up early to walk the cat.
Another thing, this dog is only six months old; do I want to commit another twenty years to another animal?

Frick freaked out when he saw the cage.
I left the dog in a cage until it and the cat got used to each other being in the same place.
Frick doesn’t know what dog is.
To him it’s one hell of a bigger cat.

After about half an hour Frick was standing infront of the cage staring at him, the dog looking back through the bars.
When Frick went into the kitchen I let the dog out to his leash and brought him to the lounge and I played with him but constantly kept an eye out for the cat.
I didn’t think there would be a big problem but its good to be ready.

Frick walked out of the kitchen and went to the cage and stopped dead in his tracks then dropped to his belly.
He started scanning the surrounding area for the escaped giant cat.
Head bobbing up and down, inching his way across the carpet until he spotted goliath then ran away in the direction he knew was safe to look for a slingshot.

The dog spends most of his day in a cage so over the next 6 hours I put him in and out of the cage allowing him to sleep on his bed and to come out and taste some freedom.
When, if I get him there will be no cage after we understand the rules.
No one has bothered to try and train him a little.
You say sit, he runs away.
You say come, he runs away.
The only thing he obeys is “Go run away”

He is a nice dog though and a fast little bugger.
The dog is my SIL’s and she paid $1000 for him.
I don’t know if I would pay that kind of money for a dog but then again I don’t have it.
For a few months it was ok but now the dog barks when its left alone and the neighbours are complaining to the landlord and he has threatened to throw her out.
So she asked if I would like the dog if she gave it to me and I told her it wouldn’t be a problem and it is my niece’s dog so she could still see it when she wanted to.

That is another problem, my niece is a little rough with him.
She is three and thinks the dog could be body slammed on the floor.
The dog isn’t complaining at the moment but it will only be a mater of time before he snaps at her.

So what kind of a dog am I getting?
What’s my preference for dogs?
Like I said, I have owned a Keeshond

An Alaskan malamute

And a Belgian Shepard
I always liked Dobermans and if its with a reputable breeder they are tame.
The ones that are crazy are the result of to much inbreeding.
It would be the same with any breed.

I also like Rottweilers.

But no, neither one of those and in some way it might be a good thing.
A Rottweiler probably eats a lot of food and there is the cat.
I can’t have a dog with a throat big enough to swallow Frick.

Nope

Walker, 6 ft 260 pounds, clad in his black leather jacket walking his dog “Biggie” down the street.

If he ends up looking anything like his mother, am i going to be in trouble with the guys.

Someone out there hates me.
Can you dye a dog black?

Have a nice day

Walker