#I’m gunna delete this later but I just have a lot of rage at it rn

[thidwicktails]

If anymore people start telling me things about myself that are so completely wrong and stating them as facts I am actually going to just stop interacting with people ever again

[zkriiwewe]

Good Puppy

Hey I’m gunna make another long post. When I was a baby my dad was obsessed with the idea that every kid had to grow up with a dog. So my dad went flat out /huntin/ for the best fucking dog he could find. For him the best dog in the whole fucking world was a Welsh Springer Spaniel. Not just /any/ Welsh Springer Spaniel. A Prestigious breed of the breed of Welsh, Springer, Spaniels. This puppy’s Grandmother was a fucking UNIT. I mean this is well, well before THICC and UNIT and BOI were being used but this Grandmother dog was the BIGGEST, THICKEST, STOKEST Welsh Springer Spaniel on the face of this bloody rock we hurtle on. I mean this Grandmother THICC UNIT of a DOG won awards for having the THICC’EST bones, BRoadest Chest, Biggest Muscle Heart, THICCEST BIRD DOG ON THE FLOATY ROCK OF WETNESS. My Folks had to name their new puppy something that had a T in it. Her siblings had names like ‘Tinker Bell’ and ‘Christmas Tree’, stuff my parents didn’t like. My dad was /dead set/ on naming the puppy, Riska. Like, No other name was allowed. But her name had to have a fucking T in it. Riska had /no Ts/, and our last name didn’t count as the T. So my parents in the car, driving back home trying to think of what kind of T name to add to Riska so they could take the puppy back home. And on the radio played, Ruby Tuesday. As my parents were struggling to come up with a name, on came a song with the lyrics “Ruby Tuesday, who could hang a name on you-” That’s the story of how Riska Tuesday *Deleted last name* came to be part of our family.

I have a lot of good memories with my puppy big sister. Granted I was /technically/ older by 6 months, but she was the big sister. Hands. Down. Riska Tuesday was my big sister.

I have foggy memories of being really little, like I’m not good yet at the whole, walking on two legs thing, little. And I can remember my Mom laughing with tears in her eyes, holding a bowl of popcorn. Me and Riska Puppy on the ground before her, waiting for Mom to toss another popcorn kernal at us. And Riska, I mean Riska /won/. She always fucking won when it came to food the selfish jerk! I have a few other food related stories/memories with Riska and food. I can remember the indignant Rage I felt every time Riska beat me to food, her chops flopping around like her fluffy fally ears with the tight brown curls and her freckled muzzle smiling at me as I WHIIIINED BECAUSE I JUST WANT ONE! So Riska took her role as being a big sister most serious. Like Most Insanely Serious. I guess she could sense I needed the protection. I can remember holding my Mom’s hand, Riska trotting beside us. Walking in the soft rain down the road, walking a beautiful grey and green street in the rain. I can remember at the T of this road, there was an ascending half wall. I always wanted to climb it but in the bushes on the upper half, there was a /gnome/. He was out to get me and I knew it and he scared me but Riska would walk into me and keep herself between me and the /gnome/ and her warm wet fur would be tangled in my fingers as I waddled along in my wellies at her side.

I remember the park. Coming up on the left. Heavy Silver clouds sprinkling joy and personal kisses on us as I start running for the park, always I felt more comfortable running. I remember Riska with her loose flapping leash, Mom knew better than to stop her by this point, running with me. Riska never let me get far from her side.

I can remember the cold slick of the slide rails. I wanted to slide. I remember the UUUMPH as Riska shoved me. I mean, She full on BODY CHECKED me off the ladder. I remember landing hard and SCOWLING AT RISKA PUPPY. To add insult to injury she didn’t even look at me. NOooooooo. She was climbing the fucking ladder after bowling me off. Because Riska Tuesday always had to vet anything I wanted to do herself. She had to go first to make sure it was safe. She had to sniff and do the activity before she would let her baby brother do it.

I can remember being on the ladder behind her, scowling at her stupid wriggly butt with her nub tail that was fustriatedly bouncing, as she tried to climb the stupid ladder that wasn’t made for her wrists.

I couldn’t hear. I remember feeling the vibrations through my hands, as Riska’s nails clattered and scrabbled on the plastic of the slide. I remember watching as her white and reddish brown fur wooshed as she went down. How she FWOMPED more than landed at the end, how she stepped on her leash before righting herself and running around the ladder, sniffing. I remember every time I tried to go down, I could feel her bark shake the plastic I was sitting on. I was /waiting/ for her to say it was okay. I didn’t wait. I slid down, and I didn’t get to land nooooo. Riska was instantly upon me. Her hot breath and wet nose as she sniffled and nuzzled and pawed at the whole of me. I wasn’t strong enough yet to push her off though I fucking TRIED. RUDE PUPPY. I JUST WANTED TO SLIDE! Eventually Riska sat to the side and looked around in the sprinkling rain. Letting me enjoy SLIDE TIME. BUt let me tell you. When I started baby waddling to the merry go round-OOOOOH BOY. Riska made sure it was safe before letting me go. And the /swings/- My Mom says Riska always did that. She always checked everything to make sure it was safe for me to do.

My dad was obsessed with training Riska to no ends. He adamantly refuses to this day to learn any sign language, never mind he’s more deaf than I am on my average days. But for my Mom he taught Riska Puppy sign versions of all of her commands. Riska was trained to how loud she could bark even. How frequent, on command, volume and duration. You could tell Riska to SPEAK to the dot with sign. He taught Riska that thoroughly so Mom and I could scare strangers off our home and lawn with Riska howling and barking like an arch demon. With out ever givin away that a human was in the house with the DEMON HOUND.

And it’s only now, so many years later, that I realize Riska’s Sign Name was simply the word for Dog. A snap of fingers and a pat of the thigh. Riska knew that was her sign name, and though I can’t make an audible snap. Riska knew when I tried and slapped my thigh, I was asking for her attention.

The two cats names were the first letter of their name tapped over the heart, then the sign for cat. Riska Puppy was simply DOG in sign.

I was six. The year one of the best things in the whole world happened, and the reason why I had to enunciate why it’s important to remember Riska is the granddaughter of the THICCEST bird dog of that current record ((I personally think Riska beat her Grammy’s stronk thiccness of being a fucking UNIT))

My Cousin, he was two years older than me, had been dumped on my Mom’s doorstep for 4 months, without his or my Mom’s consent by his mother. This woman didn’t even check in, in that whole time. Mother of the year (Don’t worry her story gets worse and my cousin eventually gets his life together after recovering from that woman’s bullshit)

So this one summer. One Amazing Summer. I have Riska’s red leash on my wrist. She’s as always barely letting me out of her sight. Cousin and a Neighbor boy are hanging out, walking around and being bored kids before the internet or video games became a THING Thing. On our walk there was this, foot ball or two sized grass field, before it led to a kind of clumping of trees. I can remember the image very well because of what comes next.

That sun burnt waist high grass.

See. There was one point when Riska was on walkies with Dad, that she managed to escape his attention. And she caught a fucking /vole/. And Ate it. Gloriously Hunted, Caught, and ATE a vole, Succeeding in her genetic building and creation, Riska was ECSTATIC.

He was horrified and SO FUCKING PROUD, Mom was scared she’d get sick and took her to the vet to look for worms or diseases.

But Riska, that was her BEST FUCKING EXPERIENCE YET. And I knew she was always lookin for another chance. Cos I also was looking for a fucking chance to hunt something too cos SHE WAS OVER THE MOON FOR A WEEK STRAIGHT AFTER THAT VOLE. NOT EVEN THE VET COULD TAKE DOWN HER HIGH. I WANTED THAT SAME HAPPINESS.

Out in that sun burnt, massive grass field. I saw it with her. A movement, in the grass. A small critter. More than a good throw’s away. But a critter, small enough to be a vole. I remember being suddenly much more aware of her thick red leash on my wrist, that I curled my fingers around that thick cloth. Her floppy curly ears lifted off her skull, her whole body turned into an arrow. My other hand was reaching up to give Riska a command of ‘Heel’ to remind her-

I swear, I swear on my Divines and my oaths. I swear. Riska Puppy Yeeted before the Yeet was Yeeted into LIFE. Riska Puppy YEETED herself after that small critter.

My feet detached from gravity and I was pulled first, form freely into the air, before the leash attached to my right wrist, DRAGGED ME BACK TO THE EARTH. Face First. OH MY DIVINES Riska Puppy is a Welsh Springer Spaniel, So she’s a medium sized bird dog. She was what, 55 pounds? Probably heavier since Riska Puppy was a fucking UNIT like her famous Grammy. I was not a small child. I was 90th growth percentile, meaning I was a fucking UNIT of a person myself. Not only that, but my Mom never let me leave the table hungry, so I often had 2nds and 3rds. The husky boy I was easily out weighed Riska by 10 pounds. So a fucking, Medium sized bird dog is dragging around a 6 year old who works out and eats 3 meals with extra helpings and snacks in between. A BIRD DOG RIPPED A 60′ISH POUND CHILD OFF THE GROUND AND IS NOT SLOWED DOWN AS SHE CHASES SOME FUCKING VOLE OR RABBIT OR SOMETHING WITH MURDEROUS INTENT!

You might think at first this won’t last long.

YOU’D BE WRONG

Riska Tuesday *Deleted last name* is TRAIN CAR PLUNGING THROUGH WAIST HIGH GRASS AFTER THIS CRITTER. All I can remember of this moment is Stunned SHOCK as my brain tries to process the SUDDENNESS of my arm almost being dislocated out of my fucking shoulder, that my DETERMINED genes kept my hand locked up around her leash, and that I AM BEING DRAGGED THROUGH GRASS AND DIRT ALIKE AND NOTHING IS SLOWING DOWN FUCKING WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT Now I don’t know the top speed of an AVERAGE Welsh Springer Spaniel, but I will tell you I would bet real world money that Riska Tuesday, with a husky 6 year old boy being dragged behind her by her NECK, beat that speed that summer day while she was MURDER INTENT ON DEVOURING THE SMALL CRITTER. I do know that both my Cousin and the other boy were YELLING and chasing after us. My Cousin knew my Mom would want me back and he had fallen in love with Riska’s Joyful attitude. So the both of them are trying to catch up. I’m sure someone told me to let go, nevermind I couldn’t hear it over GRASS AND WIND. But I know someone had to have yelled that at the stupid little boy who was dangling from RISKA TUESDAY’S MURDER CHASE RUN OF YEETITUDE. Eventually I could see more than just GRASS and my shoulder, I could see Riska’s RUNNING PAWS and the DIRT she was kicking up into my face. It was about then that I got over the shock and I started LAUGHING. My WHOOPING MANIACAL JOY VILLAIN LAUGHTER. Managing somewhere to loop my left hand up to grab the leash, hang on with both hands as she DRAGGED ME ON THIS WILD CHASE I dont’ remember which one, or if I knew at the time, but one of the other boys managed to JUMP on top of me and the leash, hands flailing to grab hold and HANG ON AS RISKA CONTINUED HER DEATH INTENT SPRINT OF DOOM Guess what Guess fucking what SHE DIDN”T SLOW DOWN NO SHE DIDN’T! SHE DIDN”T SLOW THE FUCK DOWN AFTER HER LEASH DOUBLED IN WEIGHT AS SHE DRAGGED TWO BOYS! OH MY DIVINES I remember hearing now, over the GRASS AND WIND, the sound of Riska’s HEAVING BREATHING. ONLY SHE WASN”T PANTING YET. SHE WASN”T TIRED AND SHE MUST HAVE COVERED THE FOOTBALL FIELD AT LEAST TWICE BEFORE THE BOY JOINED IN. I suddenly was aware of more SCREAMING, of the other boy and my Cousin,

It wasn’t long before as I’m still laughing my dragged ass off, till the THIRD BOY managed to leap onto our passel at the end of RISKA THE THICC TUESDAY”S LEASH. SHE DIDN’T SLOW DOWN. I KID YOU THE FUCK NOT RISKA THE I AM TOO STRONG FOR THIS MORTAL FORM TUESDAY KEPT DEAD SPRINT RUNNING AFTER WHATEVER THE FUCK THAT SURE AS DAYLIGHT WAS TERRIFIED FOR IT’S FUCKING LIFE CRITTER. Riska has, at least what, a hundred and fifty pounds of screaming and laughing boys, dangling off her neck, and she’s FULL FORCE CHARGING, THROUGH WAIST HIGH GRASS, And she’s this fucking, UNIT OF A BIRD DOG. SHE’S A FUCKING BIRD DOG CHARGING THROUGH GRASS DRAGGING THREE ENTIRE BOYS AND SHE DOESN’T STOOOOOP

One of the boys lost his grip and fell off, the other yelled in my ear “LET GO” before he NOPED from the experience of being dragged by a FUCKING TRAIN CAR HOUSED INSIDE A WHITE AND RED BIRD DOG.

I DIDN’T. I DIDN’T LET GO I AM AND HAVE ALWAYS BEEN TOO DETERMINED FOR MY OWN GOOD I WAS NOT GUNNA LET RISKA THE THICC TUESDAY WIN. I think it was my Cousin who jumped back on when he managed to catch Riska as she looped around AGAIN ON THIS MASSIVE FUCKING FIELD. I know one of them ran off to get adults to stop this because, APPARENTLY RISKA DIDN’T STOP RUNNING FOR A WHOLE FIVE FUCKING MINUTES. A FUCKING BIRD DOG FULL SPEED RUNNING WITH DEAD WEIGHT ON HER NECK RUNNING FOR FIVE FUCKING MINUTES. WHAT THE FUCK RISKA TUESDAY! WHAT THE FLYING FUCK. She never fucking stopped on her own. My Mom came into the picture for how to fucking STOP Riska THE THICC Tuesday. Her and a neighbor adult managed to half tackle Riska, fall on her leash, when she was nearish to them. My Mother tells me of this, when she held Riska in her arms. How Riska’s entire body was BEATING with her HEART. HER HEART WAS ALMOST AUDIBLE FROM HOW LOUD IT WAS THU-THUDDING HER BLOOD TO EVERY INCH OF HER DOGGY FORM. LIKE A FUCKING JACK HAMMER HAMMERING HER HEART INTO OBLIVION AS HER CHEST PULSE WITH EACH FUCKING JACK HAMMERY BEAT. I remember when everything finally stopped. How I was stupidly dizzy from laughing too much and the sudden stop of all the movement and how I couldn’t see quite right since my head though everything should still be ZOOMING but it wasn’t and how I managed to sit up, giggle sick and still giggling. How my cloths that had been respectable T shirt and jeans. Were now. They were just, absolutely, GREEN or BROWN. No other colour remained, how my arms where they weren’t GREEN or BROWN were PINK/BLOODY. How Every bit of my was BUZZING from thousands of cuts and bumps and bashes and I was giggling. I remember looking up, the leash no longer on my wrist. Laying on the flattened grass from all the adults moving and Riska’s FORCABLE DRAGGED SLEIGH RIDE. Up and seeing my Mom while my eyes couldn’t decide if the world was ZOOMING or not. Riska QUIVERING like her very MOLECULES were going to friggen EXPLODE, Her nubby tail was wagging too much to even WAG Anymore her entire body was trying to vibrate/wag out of the quantum state. I remember looking at My Mom who was the absolute picture of abject horror. Staring at her now GREEN, BROWN, and BLOODY son. And I JUST SMILE BIGGER and start Laughing so much that I’m trying to not puke from how AWESOME EVERYTHING IS. Riska Riska Riska wanted to keep going. Riska kept trying to go back to running, Riska kept going to me and trying to get me to hold the leash so she could DRAG ME again. I tried to go with her- MY MOTHER SCREAMED NO! And then didn’t let us GO. EITHER OF US. I remember my Mom’s fisted hand in my shirt, right at the shoulder, her thumb against my ear. I remember my Mom’s immaculate finger nails curled around Riska’s collar. How she had to kneel to hold onto both of us well and keep RISKA FROM LUNGING BACK TO HER DEAD FORCE RUN Mom told me how she was so scared Riska was gunna run for so hard and long her fucking heart would just collapse and she’d drop dead. Now that I’m grown, I FUCKING AGREE. RISKA THE THICC TUESDAY WOULD ABSOLUTELY RUN HERSELF TO DEATH WHILE DRAGGING CHILDREN ALONG BY HER THROAT. The worst part-

The BEST Part Is Riska the THICC Tuesday became famous around our base cos all the kids wanted to go for a Riska Ride. People started knocking on the door asking if Riska could come out and play. She became a mini celebrity and I FUCKING WISH. The Internet as we know it and Video Phones has been a thing for Riska the THICCEST Tuesday’s FAMOUS DRAG to happen. I’m sure she would have been a fucking meme immediately for dragging THREE CHILDREN that she was all smaller than.

And my Mother didn’t let Riska drag anyone without supervision. Because Mom had to stop her. Riska barely listened to Mom’s orders to STOP and HEEL. Nevermind  MINE. Nah, Riska and I both knew who was higher in our pecking order. She was. I was the baby boy. Riska was the boss of me.

But it became a thing for the longest time, especially in Autumn with all the leaves, to go on a Riska Ride. Riska with her leash and a whole passel of children BETTING THEY CAN HANG ON THE LONGEST ((nevermind I already won that title, being the only one to ever hang on for the whole of a Riska Ride))

Riska didn’t catch that critter that wonderful day. But she caught an entire base’s worth of children’s love and glee.

So Riska and I, a good idea of our sibling ship. Was absolutely the “Anything you can do, I can do better” song. Riska learnt to sit properly in a car seat from watching me. Riska taught herself this. My Mother noticed this, and just. My Mom just buckled Riska in with the seat belt. I have a lot of memories sitting in the back of my Mom’s car, looking over at Riska who’s sitting calmly in her seat. She’d look over at me. And we’d have a silent puppy/kiddy conversation as we’d hold.

We apparently learnt how to get out of toddler play pens doing that. When we figured out if we both jumped at the same side, together, after trying to prove who could make the pen shake the most, to knock it over and esssKAP’E! My Mom tells me this happened often. Where she’d sigh. Seeing me sitting where I absolutely should not be. Eating newspaper. Riska taught me that. And My mom with me under one arm, would walk around the house, calling for Riska Tuesday. Often to find Riska eating my Mother’s own underware. it was always My Mom’s underware, never my Dad’s and only once mine. BTW, newspaper tasty, underware not so much.

Oh and Beggin Strips. Dogs are liars that stuff tastes worse than it smells.

This one time when the whole family was going out to do a thing. Dad’s car was STUFFED to the brim to the point there was barely any room for Riska and I. Riska pouting in my foot space, me cross legged curled up on what was left of my seat as I was pressed against the door. But we stopped at Arbies. GLORIOIUS DAYS. JUNKY FAST FOOD COS MOMMA NEVER LETS US EAT JUNK FOOD. I Ask for the MEATIEST FOOD THERE IS. When I’m handed my bag I go straight for the MEATY GOODNESS SANDWICH. Before I can take my first bite, I can see over it. See Riska at my feet. Very politely laying there, her nose working, as she smells all the NEW MEATY GOODNESS. I open up my sandwich because I’m a good little brother, and I rip off a decent mouthful to hand to her. Oh. Oh she laps it up and she’s PLEASED. WONDERFUL MEATY GOODNESS I close up the sandwich for my bite, fully intent to share like that. Bite for me, bite for you. Riska and I often do that. I get distracted by something out the window, I can’t remember anymore. But I lift my sandwich up to take my first bite into meaty goodness. Fluffy american bread, soaked in meaty goodness grease so it’s amazing-Then my teeth click together. I blink. Staring out the window. I rip the bite off and look down-Bread? Bread and bread-Where’s all the meaty goodness? I realize I can hear Riska’s SHLOPPING LOP LOP noises of EATING QUICKLY BEFORE SHE’S CAUGHT I look down and there’s all the MEATY GOODNESS. IN HER MOUTH

HOT INDIGNANT RAGE! I am FILLED WITH HURT INDIGNANT UPSETNESS AS A TINY BOY CAN FEEL My face screwed up as I was UPSET watching Riska The Puppy Tuesday eat ALL THE MEAT And I spit out One Word with as much INDIGNANT UPSETNESS as I can “///DOOOG///” My folks never let go of how hilarious my delivery was. Sure I had used ‘Dog’ before to empathize I was upset with Riska’s latest shenanigans, calling her Puppy at all other times. 

But I’m told my Deaf Lispy delivery and my FACE had been PERFECT

You can bet a solid dollar that for the next hour I was sullen and bitter at Riska. No matter how much puppy eyes she gave me and wriggles for ‘hey play with me’ during the car ride. Of course I finished my bread, it was good. But I wanted my half of the meaty goodness! We RARELY got to eat JUNK FOOD! THAT WAS HER AND MY’S FIRST ARBY SANDWICH.

The next rare moment we got Arbies. I took my bite first, while fending Riska off because HOW DARE YOU EAT BEFORE ME PUPPY I’M HIGHER THAN YOU IN OUR PACK. I am proud to say I won that fight. Our seat belts worked in my favour. However, I was still a good baby brother and I shared the meaty goodness with her...though I didn’t let it out of my sight the whole time, and kept a leg up to push her back as she tried to sneak in to steal all the meat again.

When I was Nine, my Mother finally figured out why a super healthy boy was constantly sniffling and rubbing his eyes and suffering too many ear infections to be in any world normal.

I was allergic to dogs.

I was, more than crushed. Riska was my big sister. I didn’t want to part with her, I didn’t care at that point- I was already half deaf and I hadn’t gotten any worse in years!

My Dad was also crushed. I dunno if he feels like my deaf’ness is his fault. Mom never wanted a dog, she’s solidly a cat person. She was against it from the beginning so gettin a dog was all his decision. I do know that we hunted for months to find a good family that Riska would love to be among. We found this older couple, they had grand children who were toddlers. Riska loves being around toddlers and little children. They had a wonderful house that was theirs outright, and it had a massive yard for Germany. There was a part of grass and garden lovingly cultivated, that ran the length of the house. I dunno how you US americans can understand how amazing that much yard is. But Riska and I both knew it. My Parents had an interview with the couple, saw the house and yard, met with their children and grand babies. Then let Riska stay with them for a week on a test trial. I got to come after the week was up. In our home while Mom never withheld food, she never let us gorge on junk food. We ate wholesome homemade meals.

Riska’s new family, well the Oma adored loving on Riska, and wanted to be sure Riska understood her commands fluently in English, Sign, and German. Within the week and all the treats, Riska easily put on 8 pounds and knew as much German as I did. I can’t remember the words in German, but I remember the Oma saying to Riska “Roll over and show me your fat belly!” with the sign for ‘roll on back’ And Riska Gleefully frowmped onto her back, paws in the air, biggest doggy smile, showing off her FAT BELLY. Riska and I went into the yard and we ran the length of the yard, Riska being nice and letting me win a few of the races. Others proving no matter how much belly she got she’d ALWAYS BE THE POWER HOUSE OF THICC’EST UNIT EVER. I remember Riska was happy in her new family. I remember Riska was gleeful to have me back. I can remember how my nose clogged back to how it had been since I could remember within minutes of being with her. How I started rubbing my eyes within ten minutes of playing with her. My Dad didn’t say much, nor did he look at me. Mom had sympathy for my heartbreak. I cried when I was hugging Riska for the last time. Broken voice and twitches of hands telling her I’ll always remember her and love her. Riska didn’t understand most of it, she thought since her boy was back in her new house, we would obviously being staying her. It’s how it had worked in all the previous times we had moved and one of us went ahead of the other in the move. Just, this house had WAY MORE JUNK FOOD and more kids to protect and love.

I remember the nice Oma and Opa, Riska’s new family, holding her as I walked out of the house. Riska whined and gave that one bark that was her command of BOY COME BACK! MY BOY COME BACK! I tried to ask for this to not happen. Mom said this was for the best, for the both of us. It hurt for a long time. I drew pictures of Riska, scared I’d forget about her. I kept her adoption papers. I think my folks still have clippings about her famous Grammy. But when I was a teenager, it felt pretty good to think of Riska. With her old German couple family and all the grandbabies to love and bowl over when they dare touch a slide she didn’t scout out first. To think of her in summer, out in the country side. Dragging all those grandbabies through the fields and hills. So well fed on good food AND Junk food. In the winter be attached to a harness and sled, and she’d STILL run like a fucking maniac while all those kids screamed in FEAR and GLEE and some poor adult was trying to chase her down before someone got hurt. It was a few months ago, that I started to get okay with the idea that. That Riska’s not still out there. Her breed don’t live past 15 years on average. And. Well I’m beyond that. I haven’t. I haven’t let myself mourn her death yet. Writing this all up and sharin it with, whoever will deal with all this text. Is my first, active choice step towards..... Accepting she’s. She’s not in that nice house with the warm carpets and the grassy yard and tussling with great grand babies now. She’s not jaunting through the evening rain to walk her passel of children to love and protect back home. She’s, Hah, Not going on MAD DASH ENDLESS RUN after some hapless vole or rabbit.

Riska Tuesday is a very good dog. She was very good to me even when she wasn’t. It feels wrong to phrase it as her fault that I’m partially deaf. It feels just as wrong to phrase it as my Dad’s fault that I’m partially deaf.

She loved me very dearly and I love her. I love her very dearly.

Riska Tuesday was a very good puppy, even when she was bein a dog.