This is tough but I’m forcing myself back into the habit. All I’ve done since I left California is work my ass off. It’s funny because everybody acts like because you are from California you’ve never worked a day in your life. The fact is I had to work twice as hard to support a wife and two children, you have no idea. It’s all gravy from here on out. That’s what they don’t get, I needed two years of sleep to get over the PTSD from the experience I wrote of previously.
Literally, no one understands. It’s fine. I’m over the shell shock part, thank you. There are stages of traumatic stress disorder and don’t let anyone tell you different. For me I have the tools and the experience to deal with this kind of thing myself. I got a cabin in the woods and a good dog. Started reading the bible, taking long walks and sleeping. I have insurance through my job so don’t trip, I’m squared away. You can call off the goon squad, okay. I cut ties with everyone except for my children and they are both fine adults so there you have it. All that matters to me is that my kids had it better than me, and they do. When I started this blogging thing they were both small children. As I look at photos of myself from back then I look young. Today I look broken down by comparison after years of working like Conan the Barbarian on the wheel of pain. I might be getting old but I’m still strong as hell.
The dog, where do I begin with this hideous beast. I found her, on the side of an old country road as the sun was going down with a light rain falling, there she was standing at the crossroads lost. A young black and white dog, she looked like a hunting dog. I stopped the car, rolled down the window and yelled, hey you!
She looked over at me and barked so I threw the car in park and hopped out. I walked around the front of the car and said, hey you! I’m talking to you.
She took a few steps closer to me and growled then she started barking defensively so I stopped walking and put up my hands and she began advancing. I lunged aggressively at her and she turned tail then turned back around and stood her ground.
I told her, come here and she just stood there. Finally I said, to hell with you dog I’m going home. I got back in the car and said, hey you. She looked over at me and I said, come on, then slowly began driving off. I looked in the rear view and she was trotting behind the car.
I pounded on the outside of the door and gave it a little gas and she tried to keep up. I realized at that point someone had dumped her off out here as she followed me home about a quarter of a mile. Obviously, whoever dropped her off thought this was nowhere, and they were in luck because she’s been here a year now waiting for them to return. I named her Ashleigh after my calico kitty who died last year at my ex wife’s house. She’s wicked smart. As it turns out she’s not a hunting dog at all but a border collie mixed with a pit bull. She wouldn’t hunt for a pork chop if it was in front of her under a bush. This poor dog was abused by someone before she met me that’s all I know. I’m glad to keep her because no animal deserves to be hurt because a person gets mad. She has food water and a place to sleep. Sometimes I think she eats more than I do.
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