when i was a child my dog was sent to live on a farm. her name was lucky, and she was a beagle. she was also filled with hate and malice, and a hunger for my tender child flesh, but that was beside the point. i came home from school after having mastered the art of speedskipping (which i maintain is the fastest mode of travel but it can’t be done without mockery so i refrain) to my mum sitting me down and gently explaining that lucky moved to a farm, where she could run, bound, play and hunt hapless children until her devil’s heart was content. i knew at that moment she had died, but i didn’t want to say anything. my mum had a story in place to try and spare me the grief, and i tenderly played along, wanting to maintain it. i brought this up bemusedly, years later, as a teenager. laughing at the simple story only a fool would believe, covering for my dog’s death.
it was at this point my mum told me that no, lucky actually went to live on a farm. my aunt’s farm, in england. she lived for another twelve years.
there are pictures.
sPEEDSKIPPING IS THE FASTEST FORM OF TRAVEL
when i was in 4th grade my dog got cancer and my dad sent him to live with this rich family in CT where he would not only get doggy chemo but would have a dog brother, an in ground swimming pool just for the dogs, and a doggy bed in every bed room (5).
later in college i was telling my friend about it and my friend is like …. girl your dog died and they just told you that to feel better. And im like shit you right it doesn’t even make sense now that im saying it out loud
after graduation im going through my old room and through old draws and folders and i found pictures of my dog playing with another dog in an in ground pool apparently my dog DID go to live millionaires
Published
Death By Catchphrase 