I'm outta here, suckers

If you've read my blog posts, you know I'm old as hell. Or "was" old as hell. I've moved on, folks. 

My humans would like to think I had a good life. I lived in Michigan and California. I drove back and fourth between those a total of four times. Add in various trips, and I was able to sniff stuff in twelve states. I also marked my territory in all twelve states, mind you, so Wyoming? Yeah, that pee spot is mine.

I swam in the Great Lakes. I swam in the Pacific Ocean. When I snuck away from my people, I also swam in some shallow bodies of water that could barely be described as "fetid ponds." As an annoying dog, there were few things more satisfying than getting away from Scott and coming back covered in stinking mud. Ah, the good life ... 

Yep, I'm dead. Sunday, June 17, 2012 was my time. I arrived in 1998. I don't remember much, other than that I was a five-pound pup in a Humane Society in Michigan. Scott and the Evil Queen found me. Apparently, me playing a game of throwing my own dried poop and chasing after it endeared me to the Evil Queen. I became theirs, they became mine. There was a lot of love, I tell you. A lot of love, a lot of treats, which are kind of the same thing. 

I also utterly destroyed Scott's back yard in Stockbridge, MI. I dug so many holes that he finally bought enough chicken wire to cover the entire back yard. He laid down the chicken wire, then a couple of inches of top soil, then seeded it. The first time I tried to dig through that? I had to admit, he beat me. Damn you, Scott! 

But it's not all bad. My family doesn't believe in an afterlife, we don't think we'll all be reunited in a cloudy place with a bunch of winged dudes flying about and jamming AC/DC on harps, but in a way, I get to live on. You've read NOCTURNAL? Yeah, that "Emma" is me. Hopefully Scott can write a sequel, so I can roam around with Bryan a bit more. And maybe you've read ANCESTOR? Well guess what: those snarling 650-pound black and white beasties were based on me. 'Cause I was that mean. It's too late for you to prove that one wrong, by the way, so let the record show that my snarling face inspires monsters. 

I know my people miss me. They miss me very much. I'm sorry they are hurting right now, but that's the price you pay for the gift of loving something so deeply. It's a price they pay gladly. As my atoms and elements spread to other uses, whatever might be left of me will miss them as well.

Thanks to you all for reading my surly blog posts. It was fun while it lasted. And when you read NOCTURNAL or ANCESTOR, think of me.

-Emma-