I Miss You Mr Poop

In Chicago today beautiful outside.  It’s still a little chilly, but it’s sunny, people are out having fun, playing, living life and…  Some are walking their dogs.

I just threw a little fit.  Days like this are hard for me.  I’m writing this with tears in my eyes because I don’t know who to turn to, talk to, or where I can vent.  So I turned to my blog.

The thing is, Mr Poop, my best buddy probably ever, was put down by yours truly a couple years back.  I wrote about it in the article “Try Not to Bite me Mr Poop” which was me trying to figure out what to do.  I took him in one day, took him to McDonald’s and gave him a couple cheeseburgers.  He ate them excitedly without knowing that would be his last meal.  I took him to the place where they put dogs down in Chicago, the Anti-Cruelty Society.  Funny name for a place that will allow you to take your dog there and have him put to death for free.

But Poop was either Senile of fucked up because he was blind and scared and angry because of it.  I tried for months to deal with it.  I went through 3 bites from him, hard bites.  It was SO fucking hard because he had moments where he was his sweet, old self, and other moments where, out of the blue, he would get pissed off, start growling, and he would lunge or bite or snap.

I’m a barbarian motherfucker.  Let’s face it.  You hurt me, I hurt back.  And I was getting scared because I would get so fucking mean to him back I would literally beat the piss out of him.  Literally.  I fucking scared the shit out of myself a few times thinking I was going to kill him.

I didn’t want to kill him, but I was going to kill him if I didn’t kill him.  What kind of fucking bullshit life choice is that?  This was my best friend ever.  He was sweet, old, scared and I was the one who was supposed to protect him.  I was the one who was supposed to give him love and make him feel safe.

But I betrayed him.

I killed him anyway.

I watched the life drain out of him right in front of me.  This was my “protection” that I gave to that innocent fucking angel of a dog.

And to make matters worse I tried to work my ass off to make ends meet for the last 2 or 3 years of his life.  What did that do?  I worked for that MOTHERFUCKING STUPID Real Estate piece of shit job, and my Poor fucking Mr Poop was locked up in my fucking studio apartment during the summer months when I should have been there, walking him outside, doing fun things with him, giving him love.

But all I did was work work work work work, and left that poor little guy alone most of the time in his last days.  What the fuck is wrong with me?  Fuck work.  Fuck that shit!  I can’t go back and do it all over again and it tortures me.  I fucked up and I can’t fix it.

So right now, I see someone walking their dog and I feel sad as fuck.  Now he’s gone and all I want is another chance.

If you are reading this, and you have a dog, and you treat him like shit. . . You neglect him.  FUCK YOU you piece of shit.  That dog has a life, has feelings, needs fucking love.  It’s relying on YOU to provide that.

Thank God, I was always able to feed him.  That’s once consolation, I tell myself.  Another is that at least he had a decent place to stay.  But who wants to be alone all the fucking time?  I just want to hug him again.

God I’ve dealt with so much fucking death in my life.  3 Dogs I loved dearly, walking into my father’s house one morning to find him purple faced and dead in his bed, death, death, death fucking everywhere.

I am RELYING on a heaven.  I am RELYING that there is an afterlife and I am RELYING that I can see my loved ones again and hold them and hug them and tell them I’m sorry I was a fucking piece of shit and wasn’t there for them when they needed me.  That’s if, of course, I rate and make it in there.

Meanwhile I don’t know what to do.  I feel sad inside sometimes when I think about all this stuff.  The father who Died 3 days after he had a business deal that he worked on for a couple years, the one that was going to set him up for retirement, fell through.

What did I do?  I should have stayed there with him but I had a particularly bitchy girlfriend at the time, and she wanted me to go hang out with her and her shitty friends for Valentines day.

I did that.  I went with her.  And the last time I spoke to my father was through Nextel where he was drunk, asked me to come home and get him some food.  I told him I loved him and I would see him tomorrow.

I did see him tomorrow – he was dead.

And then when I was 14 or 15 and I let my Dog Belvedere outside to go to the bathroom.  I was listening to Beastie Boys loud on the stereo, and I kept calling my dog after a few minutes, but he wasn’t coming back.  He had a tendency to be an alpha motherfucker and would go on long walkabouts.  I think he was gone for 2 weeks once, and finally we found him all beat up, but walking tall with a female dog following him.

But this time, when I thought he was maybe doing the same thing, he actually has slipped into our in-ground pool.  I was the only one home.  I didn’t hear him.  But imagine when I went outside looking for him and calling for him and I just so happened to glance in the pool and see him floating there.  I pulled him out as fast as I could.  He wasn’t breathing.

I called 911 and asked them how I could get him breathing again.  Frantic and in tears I didn’t believe he was dead.  I couldn’t believe it.

And there was Poor Socrates.  I think he lived a long life.  I wont get into the specifics but also, I watched him die right in front of me and that’s another situation I blame myself for.

Ok no, fuck it.  You can think I’m horrible because I do.  He was pissing all over.  I got mad and wanted to punish him because he was supposed to know better.

I beat him with a phone book.  I didn’t think it was that hard.  But all of a sudden a couple minutes later he started walking funny, his back legs seemed to stop working, and he died.  So ya.  That was me.  I think I killed him, maybe gave him a heart attack.

My dad was still alive at the time.  He was in the room when it happened.  Said it wasn’t my fault.

Bullshit.  It was my fault.  I gave the poor guy a heart attack and killed him.  Maybe he was peeing because he was already feeling sick, you know, like losing control of his bodily functions.

Christ, I would ask for forgiveness but how can I ask when I can’t even forgive myself.

My dad and my dogs. I blame myself for all of them being dead.  In every case I should have been better.  I should have been there to rescue Belvedere.  I can imagine him waiting for me to pull him out of the pool like we would when he jumped in when we were swimming.  And I failed him.

My dad, all alone during one of the most crushing defeats of his career.  Instead of being there for him I left him all alone.  Mr Poop, same thing –  no wonder he went senile.

I try to tell myself things like, “At least I was there for my dad during his last days.  At least the last words I said to him were, “I love you.”

At least Mr Poop, for the most part, had a pretty awesome life.  He was with my dad on LONG car rides every day until my father passed away, where they would go to the lake, go to the waterfall near our home, go for walks, he was spoiled.  And even when I had him we went to Key West, did long walks there, lived in Ferndale – ya, you know what?  I could have been better, but I didn’t totally neglect him.

Most of the time I would come home and the FIRST thing I would do is grab him, slam him on the bed playfully (he loved it) and rub his belly, hug him, kiss him, squish his face.  Even in Chicago I would at least get him out when I could.  He had plenty of sunlight in the studio apartment, and I think he was old enough where he may not have cared as much that he slept alot.  However, that’s no excuse.  I should have been there alot more for him.

Belvedere lived the life of a badass, but it was cut short.  He got laid, he kicked other dogs asses, he played with us, and had a lot of fun.  But again, I let him down in the worst way possible.

Socrates.  He had a good life too, I think he was just spoiled.  He was chill and relaxed and lived a good life, riding in a Model T at parades with my dad, long car rides, etc…  But dammit he didn’t deserve to go the way he did.

I dug his grave.  I buried him.  I sat next to his grave and cried and cried and cried.

How many graves?  How many deaths?  How many times does my heart have to break and be filled with guilt that I failed?

So today I vent.  Mr Poop’s end was not a happy one.  On this blog one of the most popular articles was about Mr Poop.

Today, I was reminded of him a couple times.

And now…  Sometimes I just hope I live a good enough life to see them all again.

The Top 5 Regrets People Make on Their Deathbed


Incidentally the song above is kind of what I consider to be the Themesong of my Life and if I have my wish, will be played at my funeral, you know…  If I ever actually do die.

Already this has been posted all over, but it was such a good article I decided to do a quick share for those who haven’t.  Plus, this is totally the kind of thing I try to live my life by.  thinking about stuff like this, is the reason I started my whole Dream Path series of posts.  I don’t want to be the guy on my deathbed, one day, filled with regrets.  I want to at least know I tried…

Anyway, without further ado…


For many years I worked in palliative care. My patients were those who had gone home to die. Some incredibly special times were shared. I was with them for the last three to twelve weeks of their lives.

People grow a lot when they are faced with their own mortality. I learnt never to underestimate someone’s capacity for growth. Some changes were phenomenal. Each experienced a variety of emotions, as expected, denial, fear, anger, remorse, more denial and eventually acceptance. Every single patient found their peace before they departed though, every one of them.

When questioned about any regrets they had or anything they would do differently, common themes surfaced again and again. Here are the most common five:

1. I wish I’d had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me.

This was the most common regret of all. When people realise that their life is almost over and look back clearly on it, it is easy to see how many dreams have gone unfulfilled. Most people had not honoured even a half of their dreams and had to die knowing that it was due to choices they had made, or not made.

It is very important to try and honour at least some of your dreams along the way. From the moment that you lose your health, it is too late. Health brings a freedom very few realise, until they no longer have it.

2. I wish I didn’t work so hard.

This came from every male patient that I nursed. They missed their children’s youth and their partner’s companionship. Women also spoke of this regret. But as most were from an older generation, many of the female patients had not been breadwinners. All of the men I nursed deeply regretted spending so much of their lives on the treadmill of a work existence.

By simplifying your lifestyle and making conscious choices along the way, it is possible to not need the income that you think you do. And by creating more space in your life, you become happier and more open to new opportunities, ones more suited to your new lifestyle.

3. I wish I’d had the courage to express my feelings.

Many people suppressed their feelings in order to keep peace with others. As a result, they settled for a mediocre existence and never became who they were truly capable of becoming. Many developed illnesses relating to the bitterness and resentment they carried as a result.

We cannot control the reactions of others. However, although people may initially react when you change the way you are by speaking honestly, in the end it raises the relationship to a whole new and healthier level. Either that or it releases the unhealthy relationship from your life. Either way, you win.

4. I wish I had stayed in touch with my friends.

Often they would not truly realise the full benefits of old friends until their dying weeks and it was not always possible to track them down. Many had become so caught up in their own lives that they had let golden friendships slip by over the years. There were many deep regrets about not giving friendships the time and effort that they deserved. Everyone misses their friends when they are dying.

It is common for anyone in a busy lifestyle to let friendships slip. But when you are faced with your approaching death, the physical details of life fall away. People do want to get their financial affairs in order if possible. But it is not money or status that holds the true importance for them. They want to get things in order more for the benefit of those they love. Usually though, they are too ill and weary to ever manage this task. It is all comes down to love and relationships in the end. That is all that remains in the final weeks, love and relationships.

5. I wish that I had let myself be happier.

This is a surprisingly common one. Many did not realise until the end that happiness is a choice. They had stayed stuck in old patterns and habits. The so-called ‘comfort’ of familiarity overflowed into their emotions, as well as their physical lives. Fear of change had them pretending to others, and to their selves, that they were content. When deep within, they longed to laugh properly and have silliness in their life again.

When you are on your deathbed, what others think of you is a long way from your mind. How wonderful to be able to let go and smile again, long before you are dying.

Life is a choice. It is YOUR life. Choose consciously, choose wisely, choose honestly. Choose happiness.


Try Not to Bite Me Mr Poop

This is a Sad Story.  I just wanted to warn you up front.

This is a Picture of Mr Poop:



This is a picture of him at the Starbucks in Key West.  He is quite a little celebrity.  So many people have taken pictures of him it’s not even funny.  He has always been such a well behaved dog, a pure charmer.  He used to belong to my Late Father.  My dad would take him all over on these long car rides every day.  They would go in my dad’s big Dodge 2500 and Poop would just sleep somewhere and make a fat mess, because that’s what he’s good at.  He has always been my dog though, since I had to help raise him, so we have been buddies since he was pretty much a little Mr Poop.  I remember picking him up from the Michigan State Animal Hospital where he was shipped in from Minnesota.  The girls at the pick up place were like, “he’s a little charmer!” and here was this little Mr Poop in his little kennel they shipped him in, and you could just see he was happy and playful!

After my father passed away I took good care of him, we have been so many places from living in the middle of the forest and off a lake in Michigan, to Detroit, to Key West, Miami, Chicago…  All of these places.  He’s been with me through so many girlfriends, like it seems like Ancient History, and it kind of is.  He’s 11 years old for an English Bulldog.  That is like Ancient.  I know some dog’s live to like 15 or whatever but bulldogs are a bundle of problems from day 1.  This guy had eye problems for a long time. We really did  our best to keep him in good vision but a couple of years ago his eyes started showing signs of going a little cloudy.  Of course it was gradual.  Over time I did my best to spoil him.  We went on walkabouts in the Keys – like Big Treks.  He eats like a king.  just today he had one of his favorite snacks, Chicken Skin off a roasted chicken.  Sometimes if I ran out of food and couldn’t get to the store what do you think he would get?  Probably something like 6 jumbo eggs cooked, cooled a little and then just dumped into his bowl.  Or maybe he would get a big bowl of pasta.

He’s been there through the good times and the bad.  He used to sleep with me all the time.  Until a few months ago, he started to change a little.  It was minor at first but it has gotten worse and worse over time.  One night he would just growl, usually only for a couple minutes, then he would be cool again.  Then it was happening every night; he would wander out towards my bed where I was sleeping and growl a little, then he would maybe walk back to his closet (he was always famous for commandeering closets or cubbyholes.  I would do my best to make sure he had at least some cave and in some cases these caves were HUGE!  I would go visit Poop in his “apartment” I would call it.) and go to sleep.  He used to be cute, and want to come sleep in my bed.  He would either do it, or for a short time I put my mattress up high on a frame and box-spring and he would come whine and whimper in the middle of the night until I woke up to pull him up into the bed..

Unfortunately that has changed.  I don’t hear the whine and whimper anymore.  While I have been writing this he has come into my room about 3 times.  2 of those times he would hear me call out to him and growl and then, once he got close enough to me, he would maybe snarl, lunge and snap to try and bite.  I’m a tiny scared but not really.  I more feel fucking SAD because, I think he has a combo problem of going blind and getting senile.  It’s like clockwork and it’s very fucking sad.  I can see him come looking for me.  In his mind, he wants to come see his buddy, me.  But then the fucking circuitry in his brain is misfiring.  He gets MEAN.  He trys to bite.  I can dodge him and feint and finally duck in with my hand to get to his face or under his chin, but it is not a fun, or easy task, and it does involve the possibility of getting bit.  I have been bit twice now.  When I get my hand under his chin or grab his collar or put my hand on top of his head or both my hands on the sides of his face, and I’m like, awww Mr Poop…  Then he chills out and becomes himself.

But now it’s just getting bad.  He is having these fits a lot.  But the fucking hard part about it is, I can see him in there still, his old self.  He still pops up.  It’s not fucking fair.  He doesn’t know what the fuck is going on, and sometimes I can see him realize he just had a fit and feel a little bad.  Just now he came into my room, and one minute he was trying to bite me, the next I was calming him down, but then the realization I have been having lately dawned upon me once again – that i’m going to have to put him to sleep – and I fucking cried.

And then he tried to cheer me up, by biting my nose (that’s play biting and it is SUPER easy to tell the difference) and I could see he felt empathy.  So he snaps back to being himself, quite a lot, and it makes it fucking hard!  I have to take him in to the fucking vets, my buddy of like 11 years, and have them inject him with poison that will kill him, and that’s fucking bullshit!  I am pretty much left with no choice.  I have actually pushed it out far, I keep hoping for a miracle.  I keep hoping something magical will happen and I will figure out a way to teach him to chill, but I really do think he is going senile.

I actually stopped dating over the last month or so because the last girl who spent the night here a couple time, got freaked out the last time she was here, because early in the morning Poop was growling, barking and sounding a lot like he wanted to kill someone, and he was in the other room in his kennel.  Try getting your groove on with a dog one room away sounding like he wants to murder someone.

He has cock-blocked me a couple times in the past.  One time I was getting ready to make out with this chick, and Poop was a couple feet away and all you heard was, “Pfffffttttttttt….” and it was Deadly.  He literally destroyed the room with that smell, and the mood was gone…  I think he did me a favor with that chick though so no big deal.  And he was my buddy so Cock-blocks were pretty much forgiven.

But with this last chick, well… She said, “I don’t feel comfortable being here.”  After that day, She didn’t want to hang out any more.  Ok, ya sure…  Who cares?  If she can’t handle my dog….  But at the same time, I wouldn’t expect any chick to be able to handle that.  Romantic moods are pretty much destroyed.  So just when I was getting on a little streak I decided to hang it up for a minute.  I’m not into dating to scare the shit out of chicks.

So the point is, I have to take him in.  I know he’s gonna be excited.  He’s always in a good mood when we go for walks.  He loves them.I took him in the car the other day to Starbucks and sat outside.  Twice he threw a fit right around this girl, but I was having a conversation with her and had already warned her…  Before that she was like, “Ohh noo..  This guy?” Because he was being a sweetheart.  But man, that fit just comes out of no where.

And that’s the point innit?  It’s hard to imagine him being all happy, being at the vets.  Surprisingly he has always LOVED the vets.  I took him in for an evaluation a month ago and the he was so well behaved the vets were like, “I don’t think he’s ready to be put down yet.” A phone call later after the appointment and once of the vets got to hear him in the background during one of his fits changed everything.

So it is a dilemma.  But his fits are gradually getting more dangerous.  I guess, as some people have talked to suggested, he could be in pain.  He could be suffering.  Maybe I need to come to terms with it.  The other way I can look at it, a possibility that occurred to me while writing this is, maybe it’s not so bad that he will be in a good mood when I got to put him to sleep.  Maybe that is 100 times better than if he died a miserable, angry, frenzied death where he was fighting and nashing.  No, maybe I can pet him, give him some chicken, hug him, scratch him under his jaw (his favorite place) and let him feel good as they inject him.  And then I’ll let him go on and see my dad.

I have a date tomorrow.  I made it on accident. lol  It was sort of spontaneous.  I think tomorrow, though, I may take him to the vets, and I’m not sure what kind of condition I will be for the date…  But I have been telling myself “Tomorrow” for over a month now…

He’s my fucking buddy, man.  This is going to be HARD!