Monday, November 12, 2007
My Chewbacca. My cherub pup.
Her name is Maggie. She has a terrible underbite in need of a canine orthodontist. She smells like Fritos. She follows me through every room. She doesn't mind I'm schizophrenic, or an old recovering and stodgy drunk. She doesn't leave me for other men, or because my "issues" are too much to bear. Every trip and back from the house, I am greeted at the door to a wiggling dance of joy, as if I were gone for years. We sleep together. My showers are spent with her laying near on the floor. Pizza is shared as she looks up at me with those doe eyes waiting for the next morsel of crust, pepperoni, and mozzarella cheese. Thus ends my ode to my Chewbacca. My cherub pup. My faithful companion through thick and thin. I believe all mentally ill people should have a companion pet if they are able to maintain one. They soothe the troubled soul. Man's best friend was never a more apt phrase.