During our walks, she would move slowly since she was old and was no longer able to walk fast. It taught me to take things slowly and not be in such a rush all the time.
Damn.
Wednesday, January 30, 2019
This morning, someone asked a question I had never been asked before. They asked what is my favorite memory of my dog. It's such an interesting and wonderful question. The first experience to come to mind was of my dog Zita who passed away over a year ago. I remembered how during the last year of her life, she had lost her hearing and was sleeping most of the day since she was a senior pupper. But, she would still have the energy to go on walks even to the very end, literally up to the day before her passing. I was reminded of how she couldn't hear me when I approached her but she could still feel my presence and would wake up from her sleep whenever I would go wait near her. I would sit near her and within a few seconds, her eyes would slowly open and her tail would start wiggling.
During our walks, she would move slowly since she was old and was no longer able to walk fast. It taught me to take things slowly and not be in such a rush all the time.
Damn.
I miss my dog.
During our walks, she would move slowly since she was old and was no longer able to walk fast. It taught me to take things slowly and not be in such a rush all the time.
Damn.
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About Me
- Vahagn Karapetyan
- The beginning is perhaps more difficult than anything else, but keep heart, it will turn out all right. -Vincent van Gogh
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Hark Triton, hark! Bellow, bid our father the Sea King rise from the depths full foul in his fury! Black waves teeming with salt foam to smother this young mouth with pungent slime, to choke ye, engorging your organs til' ye turn blue and bloated with bilge and brine and can scream no more - only when he, crowned in cockle shells with slitherin' tentacle tail and steaming beard take up his fell be-finned arm, his coral-tine trident screeches banshee-like in the tempest and plunges right through yer gullet, bursting ye - a bulging bladder no more, but a blasted bloody film now and nothing for the harpies and the souls of dead sailors to peck and claw and feed upon only to be lapped up and swallowed by the infinite waters of the Dread Emperor himself - forgotten to any man, to any time, forgotten to any god or devil, forgotten even to the sea, for any stuff for part of Winslow, even any scantling of your soul is Winslow no more, but is now itself the sea!