Crimson Lion
Victor of thumbfights
- Joined
- Aug 24, 2019
- Location
- Latvia
This place is going to be just that, I plan to write down some stray thoughts and ideas here, bottle and jar them up for later use. They might be a delicious jam or a sophisticated cider, or foul-smelling mold-covered garbage you want nowhere near your sensitive taste buds, so consider yourself warned, this little pantry hidden in this dark little corner is not for everyone.
Here some music if you decided to stick arround.
It's late here, nearing 2 a.m. and I am wide awake. Two-three months ago that would just mean I get to catch up on my replies with my U.S. partners or play some video games. But now it feels like I am spent, the numbers on the odometer keep going up, years pass and yet I never get anywhere, I keep moving forward just to realize I am at the same place. There was a time when I could enjoy the journey, smile carelessly, and just keep moving, I honestly thought that is how it would be forever. Yet here I am, my back riddled with scars of past and my knees bending under the weight of the baggage I have picked up. This is nothing but a way to try and relieve, at least a little bit of it.
When my mother was eight months pregnant with me she saw a puppy in a local fair. My dad had some money put away for new tires for the family car and the puppy happened to cost exactly what his new tires would. One hundred U.S. dollars... my mother asked for that dog and how can you refuse anything to your eight months, pregnant wife? Well, you can't. That's how the first dog of my life was purchased. Teris was to the day exactly two months older than I was. We grew up together, and he was very peaceful, phlegmatic even to the point where when we would take a walk to the local river when I was ten he would pass by the dogs that were behind fences barking at us, and to me, it seemed like they didn't even exist in his world. You have to understand, Teris was a big dog. Half boxer half mastiff. I used to ride him as a child. But then one time, there was this rottweiler, and I have no clue what that dog communicated to Teris, but he slowly walked up to the fence and peed on the rottweiler's kennel turned in the direction we were walking before, and slowly walked away without a single growl or bark. The rottweiler tried to rack any kind of chaos up he could, barking even crazier sputum on his lips and jumping so high it seemed like he was attempting to cross the high fence. Teris was a good dog, he died when he was twelve almost thirteen, and he died on the new years eve, that was the first time I ever saw my dad cry. And I cried as well, for days as I remember.
My granny always had dogs as well, and while Teris was still alive she got this little puppy, it was a crossbreed and no one knew what kind of crossbreed, but when the puppy was two weeks old the body was still so large, and the legs so short she could only touch the ground with either her left or right legs at the time. She moved like a seal swaying from one side to the other. And I think Teris taught her something because she was very intelligent for a dog the same as Teris was. There were even some similar habits. And well I loved that dog as well, I cried so much when she died... carried her to the grave myself.
About half a year after Teris my parents came home with a new dog, a french bulldog. She was already a year old, and when she first saw me she barked at me and even bit my hand. She came from a bad home and we were her second chance. I loved her a lot as well. Even though she was mean and resentful at times. Like she would growl at me if I got too close to her bowl and it was not eaten empty. Zuze was a sweetheart most of the time, but she had this vicious side. Like when I would cut her nails, she would struggle so much to get out of my hold. When she would break out finally she would first take off running, then come back, try to bite you like revenge, and then run off again. I always found it interesting, how her first instinct was to run, but she could not leave without having the final bite either. She was fiercely protective of me and the whole family. I am certain she would have battled a lion for us if she had to. Zuze didn't like other dogs, so she just would go, berserker, when she saw some dogs, not all of them, but there was this nemesis of hers that lived in our apartment building. Dwarf Spitz called Chopine. They never got in an actual confrontation, but they would bark at each other as both me and Chopine's owner held them at their leashes. And they barked just as crazily as that rottweiler that had his kennel defied. Zuze died in my arms after one of those confrontations. She was eight and went with a heart attack, it was quick, maybe half a minute, and she looked like she was in a lot of pain, but right before her heart stopped she smiled at me. If you believe dogs can smile. She was a good dog, she loved me and my family. I cried... so did my dad.
At this time of my life, I was in a serious relationship, and we decided to get a dog together as we already were living together and I really wanted one. From the moment I laid my eyes on her, she was my dog. This little French Bulldog puppy in the side of my fist. She had pooped on herself, and the person who was bringing her to show me had been smoking, so she smelled like shit and cigarettes. But when I looked in her eyes I knew she would make a good dog. That's how we got Margrieta (Daisy in Latvian) Grieta for short. She was my baby, I raised her, fed her, she slept with me, when she was a puppy I would sit at my PC with her on my lap. And she would sit on my chest if we were watching a movie. She loved watermelon and raw duck meat, but she usually would just want cuddles, it was her favorite treat, to be petted. My relationship ended... and I got hurt physically and yet she was always there for me when everyone else seemed to fade further and further away in the distance. Through thick and thin, that's what real loyalty and love are, right? Well this summer, she got this episode of not being able to catch her breath properly. I took her to the wet and they told me we have to do an operation, they have a good surgeon, no mortality rates in her practice doing this operation. The operation was expensive, and I was still worried but I had to go through with it, what if she would get worse and it would be all my fault... I could not live with it. We did the operation, the first day after it was bad, on the second she looked a bit better, I pampered her night and day. I had a feeling something was off but the wets were not working as it was a Sunday. On the third day, I woke up next to her, in a puddle of black blood. She had died from internal bleeding. That was one month, one week and one day ago. I have not shed a single tear for her, what happened to me? Did I break that morning or that had happened a long time ago, I just didn't notice?
Here some music if you decided to stick arround.
It's late here, nearing 2 a.m. and I am wide awake. Two-three months ago that would just mean I get to catch up on my replies with my U.S. partners or play some video games. But now it feels like I am spent, the numbers on the odometer keep going up, years pass and yet I never get anywhere, I keep moving forward just to realize I am at the same place. There was a time when I could enjoy the journey, smile carelessly, and just keep moving, I honestly thought that is how it would be forever. Yet here I am, my back riddled with scars of past and my knees bending under the weight of the baggage I have picked up. This is nothing but a way to try and relieve, at least a little bit of it.
When my mother was eight months pregnant with me she saw a puppy in a local fair. My dad had some money put away for new tires for the family car and the puppy happened to cost exactly what his new tires would. One hundred U.S. dollars... my mother asked for that dog and how can you refuse anything to your eight months, pregnant wife? Well, you can't. That's how the first dog of my life was purchased. Teris was to the day exactly two months older than I was. We grew up together, and he was very peaceful, phlegmatic even to the point where when we would take a walk to the local river when I was ten he would pass by the dogs that were behind fences barking at us, and to me, it seemed like they didn't even exist in his world. You have to understand, Teris was a big dog. Half boxer half mastiff. I used to ride him as a child. But then one time, there was this rottweiler, and I have no clue what that dog communicated to Teris, but he slowly walked up to the fence and peed on the rottweiler's kennel turned in the direction we were walking before, and slowly walked away without a single growl or bark. The rottweiler tried to rack any kind of chaos up he could, barking even crazier sputum on his lips and jumping so high it seemed like he was attempting to cross the high fence. Teris was a good dog, he died when he was twelve almost thirteen, and he died on the new years eve, that was the first time I ever saw my dad cry. And I cried as well, for days as I remember.
My granny always had dogs as well, and while Teris was still alive she got this little puppy, it was a crossbreed and no one knew what kind of crossbreed, but when the puppy was two weeks old the body was still so large, and the legs so short she could only touch the ground with either her left or right legs at the time. She moved like a seal swaying from one side to the other. And I think Teris taught her something because she was very intelligent for a dog the same as Teris was. There were even some similar habits. And well I loved that dog as well, I cried so much when she died... carried her to the grave myself.
About half a year after Teris my parents came home with a new dog, a french bulldog. She was already a year old, and when she first saw me she barked at me and even bit my hand. She came from a bad home and we were her second chance. I loved her a lot as well. Even though she was mean and resentful at times. Like she would growl at me if I got too close to her bowl and it was not eaten empty. Zuze was a sweetheart most of the time, but she had this vicious side. Like when I would cut her nails, she would struggle so much to get out of my hold. When she would break out finally she would first take off running, then come back, try to bite you like revenge, and then run off again. I always found it interesting, how her first instinct was to run, but she could not leave without having the final bite either. She was fiercely protective of me and the whole family. I am certain she would have battled a lion for us if she had to. Zuze didn't like other dogs, so she just would go, berserker, when she saw some dogs, not all of them, but there was this nemesis of hers that lived in our apartment building. Dwarf Spitz called Chopine. They never got in an actual confrontation, but they would bark at each other as both me and Chopine's owner held them at their leashes. And they barked just as crazily as that rottweiler that had his kennel defied. Zuze died in my arms after one of those confrontations. She was eight and went with a heart attack, it was quick, maybe half a minute, and she looked like she was in a lot of pain, but right before her heart stopped she smiled at me. If you believe dogs can smile. She was a good dog, she loved me and my family. I cried... so did my dad.
At this time of my life, I was in a serious relationship, and we decided to get a dog together as we already were living together and I really wanted one. From the moment I laid my eyes on her, she was my dog. This little French Bulldog puppy in the side of my fist. She had pooped on herself, and the person who was bringing her to show me had been smoking, so she smelled like shit and cigarettes. But when I looked in her eyes I knew she would make a good dog. That's how we got Margrieta (Daisy in Latvian) Grieta for short. She was my baby, I raised her, fed her, she slept with me, when she was a puppy I would sit at my PC with her on my lap. And she would sit on my chest if we were watching a movie. She loved watermelon and raw duck meat, but she usually would just want cuddles, it was her favorite treat, to be petted. My relationship ended... and I got hurt physically and yet she was always there for me when everyone else seemed to fade further and further away in the distance. Through thick and thin, that's what real loyalty and love are, right? Well this summer, she got this episode of not being able to catch her breath properly. I took her to the wet and they told me we have to do an operation, they have a good surgeon, no mortality rates in her practice doing this operation. The operation was expensive, and I was still worried but I had to go through with it, what if she would get worse and it would be all my fault... I could not live with it. We did the operation, the first day after it was bad, on the second she looked a bit better, I pampered her night and day. I had a feeling something was off but the wets were not working as it was a Sunday. On the third day, I woke up next to her, in a puddle of black blood. She had died from internal bleeding. That was one month, one week and one day ago. I have not shed a single tear for her, what happened to me? Did I break that morning or that had happened a long time ago, I just didn't notice?