Life as I know it, is unknown.

I put Brutus (Bubba) down Tuesday afternoon.

I was outside my self, almost hysterical, in a kind of controlled panic. Called the vet, waited 4 hours, knowing I would never be able to go through with it. Bubba had not been relaxed, happy, curious, or able to strut his stuff for weeks. I made a conscious decision to watch him for about a week, for any sign of joy, or even ok-ness, 24 hours a day. There was no sign of him enjoying anything, and I knew what I must do. I also knew, I could not do it.

We went for a walk, I let him root around the back yard and garden, say hi to the neighborhood dogs, let go of his leash and let him lead me. The tears were burning my eyes, it was freezing cold and rainy, and I was shaking from head to toe. The time passed, and it was time to go. I put on his leash, told Ollie to stay, and Brutus was excited to be going in the car. That, killed me. I wanted the car not to start, looking for a sign to make me stop this trip. I let him sit on my lap as we drove the 2 miles in the sleet. I thought I was going to vomit, shaking and crying so hard, and the heat was on high. I'm sure the other drivers thought I was some sort of whacked out crack whore. I kind of felt like one.

We got to the vet, he smelled his last smells in the parking lot, and we went inside. They took my credit card, and kept us waiting 15 minutes. Are you fucking kidding me? There were no other cars in the lot, no other patients, and you kept us waiting 15 minutes???? I talked to Bubba, and said we could run, escape, bolt. But I knew, I would only have to go through the last day again very soon, and I am just not that strong.

The assistant took off his collar (dying now, me), and said she needed to weigh him. I blurted out "Why? What's the point?", but they did, 17.8 lbs. He's lost 3 pounds. Guess they need an exact weight for the death injection, to which I think "really? a cc or 2 is gonna make a diff?"

I hold him like a baby, as he gets the intramuscular sedative. He seems to fight it, and a little more of me dies. I still want to bolt. He looks at me and I tell him I am so sorry, and that he didn't do anything to deserve this, and that I love him so very much. His always rigid, strong, tough body relaxes a little, he lets out a sigh, and I know we've reached the point of no return.

They gave us some time, as he gave into the narcotics, then returned for the 2nd and 3rd chambers of the death penalty procedure. (I do not believe in the death penalty EVER, for anyone, and here I am, doing it to my man). They say to put him on the stainless steel table, covered with a terry cloth pad, and I cry "But you said I could hold him". 'Oh you can, but up here'. A little more of me dies. They put a tourniquet on his little leg and inject the phenobarbitol. I hold him as tightly and closely as I can, telling him he did nothing to deserve this, he was the best, I love him more than life itself. I realize he is no longer breathing, and the doc checks for a heartbeat. Nada. Bubba is gone. He is still warm, soft, pliable. I am, cold, shaking, stiff, nauseated, numb. I ask them to be gentle with his body, treat him with respect, pick up his empty collar and leash, and leave the building, wondering what in the hell just happened.

I get to the car, turn it on, and just sit there. My baby calls, and I am a fucking mess, not knowing how I am going to get home. Chelsea talks me down, and somehow, I make it.

I walk in, and Ollie greats me with her delayed 'hello' bark, and sniffs Bubba's collar.

I had no idea how much this was going to effect Ollie, Annie, Chelsea and Heather. This will be saved for another rambling. For now, know that this little guy was an ambassador for human-animal relations, in a major way. EVERYone who met him, had an immediate fondness, if not love for him. He was strong, aloof, and one 'you gotta love me' dog. He was the Mayor of Land Park. He taught me how to love unconditionally, put another's needs before my own, and loved me more than I ever knew. I have a great big old hole in my heart now. I miss him every minute.

RIP my man, my best friend, Brutus Anne MacMullan Perry, May 1995- February 1, 2011.

Most of you understand, and those that don't....well, I can't relate to you, on any level, probably.

If you don't care for animals, you can't care for anything in any depth at all.

Have you met me?

I am *that* person.

This may come as a surprise, especially to my Alabama friends, but I am that person. The person that relies on those socialistic government programs. Those same programs I invested in for 40 years. That person, that drain on society, that will probably just disappear from sight, if things like HCR and Social Security/Medicare are torn down, and Agent Orange & the HoR get their way.

I have contributed to Social Security since the age of 14. I was taken out of the work force about 5 years ago, due to poly-auto-immune syndrome/diseases(my term). I will not go into that in this piece.

Due to my mother's death, I am a bejillion times more fortunate than hundreds of thousands of others. I have shelter. Now, I am at dire risk of losing even that. I own my house, but can no longer afford to heat, cool, water, maintain my home. The only reason it hasn't already happened, is that my daughters are paying it forward.

I must own some shit, I made some pretty wacky financial decisions, trusted some people I should not have, to do work they did not do well, and I have had to pay for those decisions. (Not talking a lot of money, a few thousand, so don't get your self righteous undies in a bunch).

Every one of these decisions were made, in the hopes of bringing a little sunshine (work, money, a leg up, adventure), into someone else's life, where it may not have otherwise been. Yes, I guess you could say I fucked up. My biggest fault is that I will give my food to you if you ask, sometimes you don't even have to ask.

I have lived my life caring for others, from narcissistic husbands to 'suck the air out of the room' friends. I have given away more than I have ever held onto, and I consciously choose to be that way, rather than the opposite. As a dear friend said way back in the late 70's, "Just because other people are assholes, doesn't mean you have to be one". I held that close, for a very long time. There have been so many times I wanted to lash out, to bitch slap someone for a racist, misinformed, or uncaring statement, and I bit my lip and sucked it up, because I didn't want to hurt their feelings. I am getting old, eccentric, and real tired of that.

Notice~ I will be speaking out from now on. Sorry Annie (Huber-Frisch), I AM going to be the asshole, at least verbally, and in the moment.

There are so many veins I could take from this. Perhaps I will divulge more in another session, but for now ~ if you think you know those people, the ones that are homeless, cold and hungry, the ones that don't want to work, choose to live in the alley, beg at the on ramp, sleep in the dumpster....you are mistaken. I know a lot of people, and they have no idea that I will be there sooner than later, if not for the help of the SS and MC. I want to work, I want to be productive, I want to matter. My mind is fine, it is my body that beats the crap out of me daily. I am bored to the city limits of Nutsville, constantly looking for a parttime something I might be able to do. I know, that for me to fail at another job, if I could find one, because my body says 'OH HELL NO', is something that will set me back further than my ass on this sofa. I know, that most of y'all don't know what a slippery vertical slope, a laundry chute, that portal into John Malkovich's mind...it is, from being secure, to being fucked. Trust me, I've skied down the mountain between Phil and Steve Mahre, and this guy..... and it is one fast MF-ing ride, the E ticket to hell.

I have had big houses, successful stores, lots of money, lost those, and been homeless. I'd like to believe I never lost sight of those less fortunate, but I bet I did, if even just for a while.

If the wealthy control everything, the rest of us have no value except servitude. If education is available only to the rich kids, the rest of us will never have any value except servitude. If HCR goes down (which it will not, using as an example), the poor will die off slowly, and no longer be a drain on the wealthy. Since they are uneducated, they will have no tools to fight, to improve their lives. Is this the country the founding fathers envisioned, you think? As they fled religious persecution....as they welcomed all people from all countries, all walks of life, all socio-economic levels... into the US, to make a new life, buy a ticket on that American dreamride. I believe now, and always will, that it is a responsibility, it is right, it is moral, it is humane, to take care of those less fortunate.

As I get ready to liquidate, simplify, move on, I know it will be ok. I have survived worse situations. I am actually looking forward to freedom from material things. The past decade has been one hell of a ride.

You can't pull yourself up by your bootstraps if you don't first have the boots. - Paul Wellstone (from @Shoq, twitter)

If not for the grace of others.....it might be you. I mean me. Back to you, now, back to me. I'm on a horse. See me.