"You gonna get another job?"...

[Volpone]

Of course my personal theology isn't very comforting. Catholicism teaches that only baptised humans go to heaven. (Don't talk to me about all the problems with that, I know. I'm just laying it out there.) Why not dogs? Here's my thinking:

1) Religion is a way us primitive humans try to understand something that is beyond our comprehension. Kind of like little kids, when they're playing Grown-Up and kind of get it, but get so many things totally wrong. Your body is a machine to haul your brain around, provide input/output, and give it experiences. It isn't you. Your brain is there to hold all those experiences. But your brain also isn't you. You are the sum total of all those experiences. That is what Christians are thinking about when they think about the soul.

So when "God" who exists, but almost certainly isn't a giant old white guy with a flowing white beard and robes, looking down from a cloud, thinks us monkeys have evolved enough that this total of experiences is complex enough to survive without a brain to hold it, he comes down and starts tacking a whack at explaining to us how to do it with the various religions--each tailored to the culture he's trying to reach--classic marketing.

So you've got people who don't have the right mix of brain sophistication and experiences to be able to...Ascend, to steal a Stargate: SG-1 term. Then you've got the ones who are able to but either haven't lived the right combination of experiences or can't let go of Earth. Those are your ghosts. But the reason dogs don't go to heaven is that their brain isn't complex enough to create an experience matrix that can exist without a physical vessel to hold it. They are good enough and noble enough, but they aren't developed enough to evolve into Star Trek glow-y energy beings.

When I realized this, I resolved to use my brain to bring my dog along with me. But that's hard because I don't even know what I'm doing about creating an eternal soul for myself so the best I might be able to hope for is some cartoon version of my dog. Because I don't have a fraction of her experiences. The best I have is my perception of her experiences, looked at through the filter of a human.

 

[Volpone]

Doing better this afternoon. Of course that's compared to this morning when she was laying out, breathing shallowly and having a hard time keeping her eyes open and I thought she would just die any second. She still can't walk, but she's alert again and eating and drinking. Hasn't gone to the bathroom in forever so that's the next big worry. The appointment to see her regular vet finally rolled around and he said the relapse while on medication and recovering was a bad sign, but that he'd seen animals in worse shape make a complete recovery so he suggested giving it a few days. And that's where we are.

Oh, and I got a dryer last Tuesday because the new house has an electric hookup, the old house has gas, the renter of course has an electric dryer, and it was about as cheap and simple to just leave the dryer there as to get a 220v circuit run. On Saturday I found out it didn't actually work. So today the repairman was supposed to come out and have a look at it. Tomorrow--I thought, like my vet appointment, because I finally had to change the batteries on my watch and I set the date when it was PM but the watch was set to AM (or whatever) so I could've missed both appointments--and work tonight. As it was, I only missed trash pickup. Which is inconvenient but I can manage. They had so many extra people at work that after over an hour with nothing to do the manager asked us if we wanted to go home. I could've sat there and stared at the walls for 9 hours--they've got us on mandatory overtime--and the only option they'd have had was to fire me at will--in a union shop--but I really didn't want to be there anyway, so home I went.

Stopped off for salmon at Outback Steakhouse (fish because it is Friday and Lent) Outback because it is a superstition good luck place for me, dating back to my time in the Marines. So we're hanging in there--although I've cried like a baby more times in the past 36 hours or so than I probably have in the rest of my adult life. Something about it is more primally draining than watching each of your parents die of cancer. They're equally draining, but your parent is somehow on a more abstract level where the tears don't come until some time after, but looking at the dog you've cared for for almost 10 years, completely helpless--both you and her--and you just start bawling. At least I do.

 

[Volpone]

I imagine Facebook is tired of hearing my cry and whine about my dying dog. And I don't want to even further derail the Galactica thread, so I'll derail my own thread. I'm 99.5% sure my dog is dying and won't make it through the week. I work Monday night. But I don't want to risk her dying alone. Unfortunately, if he company Website is to be believed, I have 7 hours of "personal time" and -16 hours of "vacation." So, by the book, I should go to work Monday night. I'm pretty sure I could get my neighbor to sit with her, but for various reasons, I decided I needed to rewatch the "Daybreak" series finale arc tonight. So many farewells. Bill loses both his ladies. Starbuck. A few days ago I realized I had a wagon so The Dog could go on her patrols, even though she can't walk anymore. But she keeps going downhill. Last night she was shivering by the time we got to the midpoint of the walk, so today (especially since it was drizzling) I bundled her up in blankets for her wagon walk. Since she can't walk on her own anymore, I had to carry her to the wagon. So it blew my mind to see Adama carrying Roslin, wrapped in blankets to her wago--raptor.

There was probably something else I wanted to say, but I forget it. So instead I'll say it is a terrible thing to look over at living being you love and for a moment be happy that she doesn't seem to be breathing--and sad when you realize she is. It is miserable when you get to the point where you're praying for God to take them. Been there too many times at this point. There's a line in the Bond short story, "For Your Eyes Only," where M is briefing Bond:
"Trouble is, very few people keep tough after about forty. They’ve been knocked about by life—had troubles, tragedies, illnesses. These things soften you up.’ M looked sharply at Bond. ‘How’s your coefficient of toughness, James? You haven’t got to the dangerous age yet.’"
-M,

Boy, howdy. I've been in that movie. At this point I'm a mix of Robert Vaughn's spooked gunfighter and the farmers Charles Bronson's character scolds the village children for despising. I'm afraid of everything and can't stand anymore loss. But I will get by. I will survive.

 

[Volpone]

Oh. I remember the other thing from rewatching BSG "Daybreak," The Adama Moment. Where he's decided what the Smart thing to do is, but then something happens and he decides to do the Right thing instead. I was looking at my options for taking Monday off work. I really don't want to let this dog die alone. It's a long story.

Somehow, I apparently have -16 vacation hours and 7 personal time hours. So technically, I can't take the day off. And I'd really rather not burn a bridge with one of the city's big employers. But on the other hand, I don't (hopefully) *need* the money. And there are other options. And if it is the Right thing to do... Time to get Katee Sackhoff and go run a strip of tape down the middle of the yard.

 

[Volpone]

And the story of The Dog and my BSG posts blur together. She started out really weak yesterday. Figured it was the end. But then when I loaded her in the wagon for one of her patrols, she perked up and got new energy. Ate some, drank some. Since I figured she'd make it through the night, I arranged for the neighbor to look in on her while I was at work. She ate and drank some for the neighbor too. And when she had to pee she dragged herself off her doggie bed and peed on one of the potty pads I had laid around the bed (which was on a shower curtain). Got her to eat and drink a bit more before bed. But she's going on 3 days since she pooped and showed no signs of needing to this morning. Eventually it was time for the morning patrol and again, she perked up as much as she could maintain while I was getting ready. Beautiful sunny 60 degree day with a light breeze so we stopped at the turnaround along the creek and just sat for 20-30 minutes, During the walk, she had her head up and she was smiling and looking out, but she stayed curled up in the wagon at the break, while I petted her. Then more smiles and looking around on the walk home. Stopped to look at the neighbor's horsies but she wasn't as interested in them as she usually is. Couldn't get her to take any food or water. So I made lunch and ate it outside with her before reading her another chapter of "The Hobbit." And right now she's happily outside, in a shady spot, with no interest in coming in.

And I keep thinking about "Daybreak." Roslin, heading out for the last battle of Galactica, and The Dog, with her patrols, and Doc Cottle, telling Roslin "You're using up the last of your life with this." And later, Adama loading her on the raptor and Lee and Starbuck watching them fly off, saying "...He's not coming back this time, is he?" "No, he's not. And neither am I." And Laura's death and Adama by her grave. Maybe my dog's purpose was to get me to this house and now that I'm here and settled, it's time for her to move on. She will never be forgotten though.

 

[Lanzman]

Dude, you're killing me with this saga. I am preemptively very sorry for the loss of your dear companion. It's never easy.

 

[jack]

And the story of The Dog and my BSG posts blur together. She started out really weak yesterday. Figured it was the end. But then when I loaded her in the wagon for one of her patrols, she perked up and got new energy. Ate some, drank some. Since I figured she'd make it through the night, I arranged for the neighbor to look in on her while I was at work. She ate and drank some for the neighbor too. And when she had to pee she dragged herself off her doggie bed and peed on one of the potty pads I had laid around the bed (which was on a shower curtain). Got her to eat and drink a bit more before bed. But she's going on 3 days since she pooped and showed no signs of needing to this morning. Eventually it was time for the morning patrol and again, she perked up as much as she could maintain while I was getting ready. Beautiful sunny 60 degree day with a light breeze so we stopped at the turnaround along the creek and just sat for 20-30 minutes, During the walk, she had her head up and she was smiling and looking out, but she stayed curled up in the wagon at the break, while I petted her. Then more smiles and looking around on the walk home. Stopped to look at the neighbor's horsies but she wasn't as interested in them as she usually is. Couldn't get her to take any food or water. So I made lunch and ate it outside with her before reading her another chapter of "The Hobbit." And right now she's happily outside, in a shady spot, with no interest in coming in.

And I keep thinking about "Daybreak." Roslin, heading out for the last battle of Galactica, and The Dog, with her patrols, and Doc Cottle, telling Roslin "You're using up the last of your life with this." And later, Adama loading her on the raptor and Lee and Starbuck watching them fly off, saying "...He's not coming back this time, is he?" "No, he's not. And neither am I." And Laura's death and Adama by her grave. Maybe my dog's purpose was to get me to this house and now that I'm here and settled, it's time for her to move on. She will never be forgotten though.

I had one of those. Passed over a decade ago. Still think of him often.

 

[Volpone]

Today it was time to put her to sleep. During the night it looked like she was just laying out with her head back, but when I went to put her in the wagon for her morning patrol (when she stopped enjoying the patrol, I would know it was Time) she had no interest in getting up and when I tried to get her in the wagon her front legs were locked out stiff.

I think she would've went any time, but once there was zero hope of recovery--or enjoyment of her current state of life--it was time.

So apparently they do it like they do lethal injection--a general anesthetic sedative to put them to sleep and then a second shot to stop the heart. They gave her the sedative in the wagon but they needed her on the table for the other shot and that's when I realized what she must've been going through. See, she'd been pretty easy to move up till then--she'd be stiff as a board for the most part when I'd pick her up. After the sedative it was impossible to pick her up because she was limp.

Well I dug her a nice hole back where she could keep an eye on the neighbor's horses and buried her wrapped in the blanket from the backseat of the car with her collar and leash and a few of her preferred toys. Then I piled rocks over everything. And now life feels weird because I keep going "I'd better go check on what The Dog is up to," and then I remember I don't need to worry about it anymore.

Years back Louis C.K. did a bit about how having a toddler was like living with a terrorist and how you had to be careful not to do anything to upset them. Same with an excitable dog. Alarms, smoke detectors--anything that beeps--causes a panic attack. I worry about leaving the house to go do things for fear that she'll freak out and start wrecking things. I can't do whip cracking. Can't ever take my motorcycle out for rides. Can't leave town for a day. I'll miss her smiling face looking up at me, but I do feel like someone who's been caring for an invalid for 10 years and is suddenly free. Or empty nest syndrome, whichever. If I had a choice, I'd take another 2 years, but I guess that wasn't my call to make. So I'll get by.

 

[Volpone]

It's about even odds whether I'll get another dog or not. It's gonna be nice to be able to go places and do things and not constantly keep one part of my brain worrying about the dog (I do have a cat, but you worry about them a lot less). Also, I'm not particularly afraid of dying. At this point I feel like I've accomplished pretty much everything I can and it's all downhill from here but I was absolutely terrified of dying and leaving the dog and the cat trapped in the house. And if I got another dog TODAY, the clock resets and I could be a senior citizen before I was "free" again. On the other hand, The Dog *was* very good at guarding the property. And it was nice to have the routines we had. And she kept me out of trouble. I couldn't be out freebasing coke with tranny hookers for fear that I'd come home to a tore up house. So there's an argument for getting another. As I said, I feel like she was my angel, so if I do get another dog I'm almost certainly going to name her or him "Starbuck." Starbuck is a much better dog name than the one mine had. (Her previous owner was a hipster artist type from Portland Oregon.)

 

[Volpone]

OK. Getting back on topic, first off, I suppose now that I can be away from the house for 40 hours a week again, I could look for a Grown-Up job instead of being a USMC major with an MBA, working part time on an assembly line. Or I could focus on finding my next rental and then getting on to monetizing this property (renting out shed space, growing vegetables, etc). It depends on if there are any houses that I can afford that are worth buying.

If you haven't done real estate investing, you maybe think that you need a Realtor to buy houses that have a "FOR SALE" sign in the front yard. Or at most pore through Zillow. When I moved here, there was a great vacant house on my dog walk, but it wasn't listed. A year or two ago people showed up and started renovating it. It had been sold without ever being listed--and for a price I'd have gladly paid. So that's something people do. You find a vacant house, track down who owns it and ask them if they want to sell it. Or you put up those "WE BUY UGLY HOUSES" signs and help someone out who's behind on their mortgage and about to lose their house. You can also use "wholesalers." These are people who do that kind of legwork but either don't have the money to buy houses or some other reason. So they sell you the house with a cut for themselves. It's a neat idea--in theory--gets you a house that isn't being listed by a Realtor for top dollar without having to do all the legwork yourself. But in practice, in my experience, wholesalers mostly have garbage houses to sell and unlike a motivated seller, they know "the game"--and need a cut for themselves--so I've never seen a house listed by a wholesaler that I wanted. I've only seen one that was worth my time to even go look at. I really have much better luck finding MLS listed houses on Zillow.

I mention all this because there's a house literally across the street from me that was listed by a wholesaler this summer. It wasn't really what I was looking for, but it wasn't terrible. And it was at a price I could afford. Drove over and walked around the yard. A couple broken windows on one side of the house and the garage, but I decided it was worth pursuing. Talked to the Realtor who had it on his site (that's another thing--if a wholesaler has a site, chances are it is clunky and buggy and hard to use, compared to the (mostly) slick interface Zillow has) and he said it had already sold. Then a few weeks later I found this place. Better property and I got if for almost $20K less than that one was listing for. Wasn't able to get it until November, but such is life. Moved in around mid February. Renovations continue.

Anyway, as I'm finally getting around to starting my first dog-less weekend, I notice they seem to have some stuff parked out in the yard--work vans, a trailer (or dumpster? can't see), etc. But, some 7 months after I was told the place was sold, not only is the place still vacant, THE WINDOWS ARE STILL BROKEN.

That's just stupid. There is literally a sociology theory called "The Broken Window Theory." The premise is that ne'er-do-wells don't target maintained property. In the experiment, they park a fairly nice car in a fairly bad neighborhood and just leave it there. The car will stay, relatively untouched, until it starts to get dirty and has been there awhile. But at some point, someone decides to smash a window. And once that happens, the car gets completely trashed. I dunno. Maybe kids these days are more focused on their X-Boxes, but I was a pretty good kid, and if I saw a house that was clearly vacant and had broken windows, at minimum, I'd probably try to break into it. Someone less nice then me might decide it would be fun to break some more windows. At minimum, it leaves the interior open to rain and snow and pests like raccoons. Just stupid.

 

[Volpone]

OK, one more whiny dog post. I'm coming along. Really, it was worse when she was still alive and...seeing her slipping away. But today was grocery day. There is this irrational disbelief where you can't get that something actually happened--Bambi, nuzzling his dead mother or whatever. On the drive home after the vet put her to sleep, I couldn't help but open up the blanket and feel for her breathing/heartbeat. Why? Stupid. The whole point of the trip was to get her out of her suffering. Was I hoping for a miracle where she'd survive and go on to a full recovery and live with me for a few more years? Probably on some level. But yeah, today was grocery day. She always comes along on grocery day. We usually go to the park and then stop off to shop on the way home. So for at least 8 and I think over 9 years, the one thing I could always count on every week is wheeling the shopping cart out to the car and seeing her in the backseat. I always looked forward to it for some reason. And I realized I was looking forward to it tonight and then remembering it wasn't going to happen. In the checkout line, I read something that was mentioning "forever home" and realized that she had quite literally found her forever home, which made me sad but happy at the same time. But the thing that actually got me crying again (but not as bad as earlier in the week) was thinking back to going to the vet; he said they could take care of the body for me. What, and throw her in the trash? Fuck no. "She's coming home with me," I said. And I cried again a bit today, thinking about it. Let's face it, she was a pain in the ass, exhausting dog that required a lot of sacrifices and before me everyone gave up on her at some point--at least 4-5 people that I know of--by the age of 2. So apart from having to leave her within months of getting her because my Mom was dying of cancer and Mom trumps dog, I have kept my promise to never leave her. I mean, she's had dog sitters a handful of times, but I was never going to drive her to the pound and drop her off.

 

[Volpone]

Oh, I remember the other thing: Sinead O'Connor doing "Nothing Compares 2U." I'm just like "I might as well sleep in because I don't have to get up for the dog. I might as well stay up all night because I don't have to worry about the dog." My routine and discipline are shot because now, all of a sudden, I can get away with it.

 

[Lanzman]

Forbin just got a new pupper. Lots of dogs in shelters in need of a forever home.

 

[Volpone]

I'll likely get one at some point*. But at the moment I feel like The Dog was an angel like Starbuck in BSG. It was her purpose to guide me to this home and when she was done it was time to move on. I've got a lot of work to do and I can get a lot more of it done when I'm not spending 2+ hours a day walking a dog.

*That said, when I got her, I was like, shit, I could be 55 before I am not taking care of her. Getting a dog now, I could be a senior citizen before this hypothetical dog dies of old age. It would be nice to be able to go out to eat or out for drinks after work; to ride my motorcycle more--or any of the things I had to give up because The Dog did not approve of them. Also, I'm not afraid of dying. I feel like I've accomplished pretty much everything I can. But I was terrified of dying and leaving The Dog and (still) The Cat, trapped at home, hoping someone figures out they're there and taking care of them. After The Cat goes, my only worry is getting a will so my money doesn't go to my brother. I love my brother, but when Mom died I walked away from at least $50,0000 because he dragged his heels enough on selling the house and I didn't want to quit my job and move back to Wisconsin to make it happen--especially because if I did, then I'd have felt obligated to figure out just how much money he owed my Mom. And I really didn't want to own a bar and bowling alley in a hick town in Wisconsin--or make my brother homeless so I could sell off his house. So he gets no more money from me.

 

[Volpone]

This house is...trying...for someone with OCD tendencies. You can't really definitively complete anything. I'm at, maybe 85% on the interior. Painting doors would be a big leap. If I got the trim painted on the exterior that would be a big step on finishing that. Then there's the yardwork. (Oh, there's a ton of other stuff, but I'll skip over it.) Grass is starting to grow so I should mow soon. The vines in the fenceline are also starting to grow, so I wanted to rip them out before they got more out of control. Then there were the 7-ish huge tree trunk segments. Other day I got a maul and some wedges and I've reduced about half the logs. But half remain. And I'm getting too old to spend 3 days in a row, swinging a maul.

Then there's other boring stuff. The car needs an oil change (and probably a pair of tires). I should look for a better job, now that I don't have to worry about The Dog's separation anxiety issues. And get a new driver's license and a bunch of other things that escape me at the moment. But all that takes away from the time I can spend on...fuck it, I can't even remember what the priority is right now.

 

[Lanzman]

You want a Trust, not just a will. A trust avoids probate since the Trust owns all your stuff, not you as an individual person.

 

[Volpone]

So. House built in 1938. 20 years ago the last owner-resident died and it became a rental property until I got it. Over an acre of land. So to say there were a lot of dead and downed wood and overgrown fencelines would be an understatement. There's sheltered parking for 6 cars: A tin shed with two 2 car garage doors, a 1 car door, and another building with carriage house style doors (if you build carriage house doors out of 2x4s that ants have destroyed and that green corrugated fiberglass roof material). The tracks for the 1 car door got wrecked and after a spring broke on one of the 2 car doors, instead of fixing it They took apart the door and nailed it up inside the shed to make a divider. Yesterday I was able to install the track to get the 1 car door to work again. I also set everything up for the 2 car door. So today I loaded the springs.

Loading torsion springs for a garage door is a lot like driving a car or training a tiger. If you're careful and follow the Rules, it is fairly simple and easy to do. But things can go Wrong that will kill or seriously injure you. The springs are like loading a catapult. You have a couple 14" steel rods that fit in 4 holes on one end of the spring. You stick the rods in and use them to wind the spring. Once it is loaded with enough tension, you tighten up a couple set screws and it is relatively easy for one person to lift a 225# steel door. Of course if you slip or aren't paying attention, a 14" steel rod can get whipped at your skull with enough force to life a 225# steel door. I'd hoped that because I had 2 springs, they could be loaded with half the tension, but apparently it doesn't work that way. Then I wound up playing fuck-fuck games where the cables would come out of the tracks on the pulleys and I'd have to think through the process to see if I could fix it without being killed or had to go all the way back to Step 1. (I could, but every time you improvise and succeed, is another step towards becoming lazy and sloppy and making a mistake that could kill or maim you. ) Long story short, the door works now. And I wasn't (obviously) killed or maimed.

On a completely unrelated and off-topic note, I'm Old. So I can't quite buy Glock style striker fired pistols. I'm not so old that I go for the single action magic of the Colt 1911 or the Browning Hi-Power. I'm in the middle, with the single/double action external hammer 9mm. I did get a 1911 a few years back and have become quite fond of that, but for some reason tonight the switch flipped back and I again see the charm of a S&W 9mm with a hammer, a decocker, and a 15 round magazine.

 

[Oerdin]

You want a Trust, not just a will. A trust avoids probate since the Trust owns all your stuff, not you as an individual person.

Even trusts can get stuck in probate. Trust me on that one. The realestate in my father's trust was all good but if cash on hand and liquid assets exceed a certain amount then trust or not CA state law says it has to go through probate. 11 months since my father passed and we still have a lot of cash tied up in probate. It will probably take longer than usual too as the courts were closed for five months due to covid.

 

[Colonel Kira's Left Tit]

Even trusts can get stuck in probate. Trust me on that one. The realestate in my father's trust was all good but if cash on hand and liquid assets exceed a certain amount then trust or not CA state law says it has to go through probate. 11 months since my father passed and we still have a lot of cash tied up in probate. It will probably take longer than usual too as the courts were closed for five months due to covid.

First off, sorry to hear about the loss of your dad, that always sucks. And you're right, things get stuck in probate for a year, typically, and there's nothing you can do but wait. Hopefully things will settle out for you soon.

 

[Oerdin]

Thank you for your condolences.