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Dreadful Nonsense

"I've read your blog. it's really funny. you should write a column." - Jon Ronson

Butler died last night.

We’ve known it’s been coming - the dog’s 16, for Xenu’s sake - but even so it’s incredibly upsetting.

Thinking about it, he’s been around for over half of my lifetime. That’s a really long time to have something present in your life and then to have it go away.

Every time a pet dies, we start to wonder why the hell we put ourselves through this. There is absolutely no rational explanation for becoming emotionally attached to something that has much shorter life span than you do.

Anyway. Me and Little Sister Edel and Little Sister Louise have been emailing each other at work all morning making each other cry at the little things that we’re remembering.

To that end, here’s my stupid memory.

He used to pick up balloons at Christmas and walk around the house holding them. He’d take them between his front teeth, holding on by the knot tied at the top, and his mouth would wobble when taking it because he was trying so hard to be gentle, and not to burst it. Once he had it in his mouth, he wouldn’t let go, but would instead visit everyone he could find in the house, going methodically from room to room, to show them that he had the balloon. Once the person had told him how brilliant he was, he’d go find the next person. As far as I know he never burst a single balloon.


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