The Brandi girl went to doggy happy land on July 31, 2019. Looking back, I’m sure she knew that life was going to get pretty shitty (I ended up being quasi-homeless between October & December, 2019 due to a severe plumbing malfunction-related, forced, and eventually permanent relocation from my apartment to hotels, Air B&Bs, homes of kind strangers who have since become friends, finally to another apartment that is located slap bang in the middle of a Covid hotspot area in NJ. I swear — you can’t make this shit up).
The timing of her rather hasty departure (4 hours between stroke and being put to sleep) makes me suspect that Brandi’s super power doggie intelligence told her that, after 10 crazy years with Momma Maya, it was time for her to go chase rabbits in doggy heaven while Momma (in a literal sense) figured her shit out. She always was a smart, smart pooch (I mean, just look at that face 🤣).
Given my mind’s unfortunate proclivity toward going down rabbit holes (and, perhaps, in an effort to manage fear & anxiety about eventual, unavoidable sorrow), I had wondered in the last two years of Brandi’s life what it would be like after she dies. I would imagine missing her, and not missing the responsibility of having a pooping machine for a canine (if you took her for 5 walks on a given day, she would poop five times). I can line up people Brandi deigned to allow to take care of her to back me up on this claim. Once, a dog sitter asked me in wonder, ‘She eats normal amounts. Where does all that poop come from?’
Where from, indeed? I had this thought today morning that Brandi was processing not only her own digestive material, but crap from the whole world (to a significant extent, doggy gut-wise). She pooped so much because she took in garbage from the world by osmosis. She processed it, and made it into manure so flowers could grow.
Look at this logically. Brandi kicks the bucket in late 2019. My home starts going to shit 2 months later. And the entire world starts going to shit after 6 months. Am I totally out of whack here?
(**p.s. This is a grief journal. NO insult meant to the havoc Covid has unleashed.)