A Sad Post.

After placing calls to several mobile vets yesterday, I found one who was able to come by the house in the late afternoon. After examining Fang and speaking with his team in LA, everyone conferred that it was time. Heart failure. He was too weak to walk or stand up. The vet asked if it would be alright to say a small prayer and I said okay. It was almost as lovely as my mom's service. Instead of the unexpected sound of a train passing through, the lawnmower battalion was in the neighborhood. Fitting.

About a half hour later the crematory guy came by in a non-descript green Impala or something, and picked up Dead Fang and put him in the trunk of his car, jarring my whole experience back into the nuts and bolts realty of life. I resumed cleaning years of grime off the white shutters above the kitchen sink. Clorox, Ammonia, and Pine-Sol are smells to be added to The Olfactory Tour of Sad Memories. The house felt empty last night, even with Monster Truck Dog holding watch. I am sad. Thirteen years ago, back in Chicago, Matt asked me if I wanted a dog. Fang, née Max, was a stray. Matt had another dog and couldn't keep Fang. I was recently divorced (not too lucky in love, am I) and so I said, yes. I read the Monks of New Sketes, How To Be Your Dog's Best Friend, and did group training for a couple of days before Fang's laid-back personality got us booted out of group therapy and upgraded to private training. The owner of the post house where I was working at the time, told me the best way to deal with an aggressive dog was to give it love, and so I did. Best dog ever. He never completely lost his edge, but he was Mr. Friendly, even to strangers, 97% of the time. Over the years we bestowed several nicknames on him, possibly only funny to Matt and I. Fang's tail was the perfect height to knock over our martini glasses on a coffee table and our friends called it, "The Tail of Woe." Matt and I promptly corrected it to, "The Tail of Love." I'm lucky to have had him in my life-Fang. Matt, too, I guess.

I'm adjusting to being here. I haven't ventured out except for groceries and cleaning supplies. I'm still working on trying to get the house in order and taking care of personal business. The walls are plaster, so I'm thinking I'll have to invest in another easel. Considering I'm not an easel painter, it's odd, but necessary. Suddenly I feel way more mature than I should be, or else I'm just catching up to be as mature as everyone else already is. I received an email requesting some images in consideration for a temporary showcase suite in LA, and I really need to start thinking about generating a steady income again. Meanwhile, in order to pay for some repairs, I'm going to set up shop on eBay and slowly start parceling out some of the buried treasure around here, like for instance, my mom's vintage rain bonnet collection.