I hope puppy heaven is as fun as growing up Tasman

Aside from last weekend being incredibly fun, it incredibly sucked.

I already said one long distance goodbye (to DadGirl, my precious baby car). A subsequent second long distance goodbye seemed far from likely, and Sunday brunch with my favorite of NYC friends, seemed far from a tearful morning.

But mid Eggs Benedict, daddy called with the bad news. My precious baby puppy, Spunky, who at 13 (or something) is actually not much of a puppy, had to be put to sleep. I’m so unbelievably and incredibly upset/pissed/sad/mad/regretful, and all I want to do is back track one week and go freaking home.

My sister’s best friend got married this past weekend too. In the weeks coming, I debated going home, but ultimately picked the city over the wedding, and unbeknownst, the passing of my puppy. I’m a fucking moron, and I hate to curse, but I’m a fucking moron- and I’m kicking myself for it. Anyways, this isn’t about me, or the physical self-abuse I plan to conduct.

It’s about my sweetheart of a pup. Nothing bothered Spunky, nothing brought her spirits down, and nothing kept her tongue in her mouth (mind out of the gutter). She’d be kissing me to no end right now if she knew my tears. Spunk was never quite potty trained (oh a Tasman trend…), was always fatter and bigger than her older sister (another Tasman trend), and her big brown eyes always spoke of some of kind of trouble (course, a third Tasman trend).

GOD, I love that thing and wish more than anything anything anything, that I could have given her a last kiss bigger than any kiss she’d ever given me.

Well, tears are no friend in trying to write, and I fear I’ll get electrocuted by my computer if I continue, so I’ll quit while I’m ahead.

To my darling, huge-hearted, over loving, beloved puppy- I love you :)

Sweet dreams, Spunky baby.