But I’m not.

My dog, Farley, had just celebrated his 15th birthday this past November. Unfortunately, the day that I always knew would be coming is today. I’ve made the painful decision to bring him to our vet and let him pass peacefully and with dignity. This has not been an easy decision as I’ve flip-flopped repeatedly on whether or not I should go through with it. Even though he has difficulty he can still walk and he still gets excited going outside. But his body and his mind are betraying him – he’ll try to run but it will only be for a few feet. He suffers from cognitive dysfunction syndrome which is getting progressively worse. His arthritis is causing him to lose the function of his rear legs. There have been many a night and morning where I’ve had to carry him up or down the stairs.

We were supposed to have warm sunny weather the past few days. It seems that after I made the decision to let Farley go it has been raining. It seems like Mother Nature is always sad when she knows one of my dogs is going to leave me.

I’ve taken Farley out for car rides and to parks that he enjoyed where he’s been able to romp around and sniff. On Monday, I gave him a bath – his last bath – so that he would be nice and clean for Dr. Werden. It gave me a chance to bond with him and feel close to him. Last night I slept with him on the floor on his dog bed in the living room. He doesn’t really like people snuggling him but he let me lay my head on him. When it was time to go to sleep I led him to the stairs, picked him up and carried him to the bed where I laid him down on Angela’s side of the bed. He immediately snuggled up to her pillows and fell asleep.

As I fell asleep I dreaded having to face today.

Morning finally crept upon us and I started bracing myself for the wave of emotions that I’d be wrestling with. Friends have come by to see him one last time and have wished us well. He had chicken for breakfast and we ate hamburgers with Inky. Right now he’s snoozing in the office while I sit here typing, praying that 6:15, the time of his appointment, never comes.

A lot of people may not have the type of bond that I have with Farley; some people may not understand it since he’s ‘just a dog’. But to me he’s not just a dog. I’ve had him since he was just a few weeks old. In the absence of human children he’s been my son, my friend, my confidant. We’ve had adventures and good times; we’ve seen each other through bad times and disasters. He’s my family. He would be me if I was a dog.

I’m losing him today and I haven’t felt a pain like this since losing my dad and Tobey.

I love you, Farley. I always will.

I’m still working in downtown DC and I’m still taking the train. This form of mass transit is one of the modern conveniences that we in the metropolitan DC area LOVE to bitch about but can’t live without. It’s kind of like an abusive relationship. The management and the service can sometimes suck but we’ll keep on coming back. And then, Metro, we’ll ride you like there’s no tomorrow…until you betray us and leave us stranded, fuming to never be taken advantage of again.

It is what it is. Other than people watching, reading or listening to the same playlist over and over on my phone I find myself playing a little game called ‘MY METRO CAR HAS BEEN SUCKED INTO ANOTHER DIMENSION AND I MUST FIGHT TO SURVIVE!!’. I’m still working on a catchy name for this game. This is a mental game that doesn’t require you to interact with anyone. In fact, it is probably best if you don’t talk to anyone otherwise your fellow passengers will probably think you’re a complete loon or call security. Why? Because it is an offshoot of my fascination with fighting through hoards of, well, anything.

The very improbable scenario goes like this: You are riding on a train and suddenly a hole to another dimension rips open and sucks in your car. Whether you are stuck in limbo or your car eventually lands depends on how long your ride is and how much you want to stretch this out. You are now stuck in a fight for survival against the rest of the passengers of your car. You will have to do the following:

• Figure out if  you can commandeer the car peacefully and get everyone to follow you or is this going to be a fight for supremacy?
• Understand what tools you have at your disposal. This will be either what you’re carrying or what is within reach (fire extinguisher, small hammer to break glass, various newspapers)
• Realize where you are physically and formulate how you are going to both attack and defend your real estate
• Is there a suitable queen on board? You’re going to need to have someone to be the Eve to your Adam should you make it out of this predicament
• Do you have possible allies?
• Are there other cars in front of you or behind you? If so, will you be able to build up loyal forces to expand your territory?

Ok, so you have all that? Good. I’m pretty sure you can guess the mental aspect of this now: estimating your chances of overpowering the people around you or coercing them into doing your bidding.

Keep in mind this really only works on a sparsely populated car. If you tried to do any of this with a car that is about half full you’re bound to fail. You only have so much room to move about so swinging fists, kicking and all around melee fighting is impeded by the volume of people, the seats and the posts within the car. Plus, the National Capital Region is home to about 5.6 million people. Have you seen the size of some of these people? There are a lot of people around the area that could wipe the floor with you :/

Now, let’s be real: a lot of this is based on your perception of how well you would do against people that you don’t know and that you’re merely sizing up. Someone who looks like they may be a complete wuss may be a Krav Maga expert in real life and may have experience taking down terrorists on a bus or a plain. Yeah, we’re not interested in that. What we’re doing is basing our chances of success solely on the following criteria:

• The superficial appearances of everyone else on the train
• Our ideal personal prowess
• Our perceived ability to carry out every kick-ass fight scene from movies, television, cartoons and comic books in order to succeed.

It could be that I have been riding the Metro for too long. Maybe I should just stick to making up stories of all the freaks that I see.

During this unplanned sick day I was able to enjoy a cold/flu medication influenced dream about a past holiday event.

First things first: I think we all know about me by now. I’m just a big ball of mush; overly emotional and sentimental. I’ve also had the joy of working with and managing some very special people over the years. I am still in contact with many of my former colleagues. Through all my journeys through companies and organizations I strove to make each place feel small and intimate so that work never really felt like work. Through it all I’ve been lucky to have earned the trust of my colleagues, a trust that I never abused.

Except once.

At a former place of employment where I managed a team of about a dozen people. We were young-ish men and women, almost all in our 20′s and 30′s, in relationships or for some happily single. During the holidays I decided it would be pretty nifty to show these freaks how much I appreciated them by holding a team Christmas party. It would be less than an hour, there would be a gift exchange, lots of talking and then probably head out to a happy hour after. The catch was this: I bought enough ‘gag’ gifts for everyone. Each gift was different and something that I thought was pretty cool but the way that they would get the gift was to pick out a random slip of paper that had the name of a famous person or character and they would receive the present corresponding to that name.

I can’t remember if I bought a tube of sexy-time lubricant for the person who got ‘Han Solo’ or not.

So, we’re all gathered around the table, exchanging gifts with each and then comes the game that I thought up. The gifts ranged from Lego sets to $25-$50 gift certificates inside kid wallets or small stockings, electric screwdrivers (who wouldn’t need one of those??), a large metal jack and various ornaments from Restoration Hardware, and more. If someone forgot to bring a gift, it was cool: I brought extras But I manipulated the game a little bit and for that I’m sorry. If any of my former employees at the time read this please realize that I truly did have the best of intentions and there was no other way for me to do what I did through the company that we worked for.

There was one employee who was a single parent. Times were a little tough for this person and their child so I made sure that the slip of paper that they picked out said ‘Aretha Franklin’. When it was time to claim their prize they came up, I gave them this trash bag with a big, piney Christmas wreath and I pulled it half-way out. We all laughed at how ridiculous it was. That should have been the end of the party. However, it really wasn’t the end. See, the clue was ‘Aretha Franklin’. Tied to the bottom of the wreath was a Franklin.

It was the only way I could think of doing it – surrounded by friends, everyone smiling and laughing while enjoying the festivities.

I know $100 doesn’t really go far these days but I hope that it, and the other presents and prizes doled out that day, at least lifted the spirits of my cohorts.

When my ex-wife and I decided to get him we didn’t really know what to name him. You know how it goes. You know you’re going to get a pet and you spend all this time trying to think of the perfect name for it before you get it. However, when you finally get it nothing fits. All those spectacular names somehow seem stupid when you come face-to-face with your new, furry friend. My boy, on the other hand, was almost crystal clear as soon as I met him.

He was born in a townhouse in Ashburn and he was the largest of the litter. The family that had him gave him the absolute tragic name of ‘Star Butt’ because of a little patch of white on his rump. You can tell that they had children under the age of 10 in the house. We had stopped by so we could choose which puppy would be ours. They were all rolling around playing at my feet, jumping on my, yapping and being rambunctious. Farley, on the other hand, just sat behind me and kept looking quietly up at me. When I turned around and looked at him I swear it was like being hit by lightning. Here was my dog – the quiet, confident little man who found me as much as I found him.

I can’t believe that this post is from 5 years ago!

Often times people think that I named him after Chris Farley. They couldn’t be more wrong. My Farley was named after someone much more noble than Tommy Boy. My Farley was named after Farley from ‘For Better or Worse’. Want to see? Then take a look at http://www.fborfw.com/features/farley/passes.php

Ah, the passage of time! The link moved but you can read the strips in this particular story arc on the For Better or For Worse character site – http://www.fborfw.com/char_pgs/interactive/index.php?character=pets&id=farleydies#viewingarea

I named my dog after Farley from Lynn Johnston’s ‘For Better or Worse’. Farley in that comic strip was a wonderful companion and was just as much a part of the family as any of the other characters. What made him even more special was his destiny and which was expressly the reason why I named my dog after him. I contacted Lynn a while ago and we had a pleasant conversation regarding Farley, the Farley Tree, and the passing of time. I wish I could remember where I archived those emails!

He’s mostly deaf now and his eyesight is pretty poor. Our vet says he’s showing slight signs dementia. He’s been through a lot. We’ve been through a lot. I love him as much as I could love anyone else and it kills me knowing that his time will be coming soon. Until then, I promised myself and him that I would cherish whatever time we have left together.

In a humorous, crude yet brutally honest way, The Oatmeal describes it perfectly in his strip ‘My Dog: The Paradox’.

Being a pet owner is a wonderful and a cruel thing. I wouldn’t trade anything in the world for having this grouchy bag of fur in my life.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must go put a mirror in front of his face to make sure he’s still breathing and carry him up to bed.

Happy Birthday, Farley.

Fact: there is no real factory with Oompa Loompas (@ The Cheesecake Factory) http://t.co/nNetdAzG #

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The Asuburn Bagel Shop has a weird nickname/slogan: Karate Bagels Dance. Why? There is a karate dojo to the left of it and there used to be a dance studio to the right. When you would look at the outside of the shop it looked like the name of the store was Karate Bagels Dance. The shop is a little small and has local sports memorabilia on the walls (mostly high school, Redskins, and the Steelers). Along one wall, right next to the fridges containing cream cheeses and drinks, they have a wall where you can post pictures of your pets. Oh, they really are trying to woo me as a regular customer, aren’t they?

The bagels that we got were pretty good for Northern Virginia consisting of a nice crusty outside but moist, chewy inside. However, they did have a number of specialty sandwiches. The one that caught my eye, though, was one that shared the name of at least two women I know – The Ashley. Well, one friend is named Ashleigh and she lives in Sydney, Australia. My other acquaintance is named exactly like the sandwich and recently moved back to the states from Sydney.

As you can see, the sandwich is a dream snack for Elvis Presley – peanut butter and sliced banana on a chocolate chip bagel.

A week went by and my curiosity was getting the best of me, kind of like a gastronomical Pandora’s Box. I made it my mission to taste this bagel. Angela dropped me off in front of the bagel shop and waited for me in the car somewhat intrigued by The Ashley and also somewhat fearful of it. When I emerged from the shop I excitedly jumped into the car and displayed my bounty to Angela who both laughed and wretched at the same time. The smell was both the strange, sweet smell of peanut butter intermixed with chocolate and a hint of the banana. I then put the thing in the passenger side storage compartment so as not to accidentally kill my wife with what could only be described as. We couldn’t take the top down on our car because it was raining and the smell was enough to be over powering if left unchecked.

We went to breakfast with our friend Amy and The Ashley patiently waited for our return. Breakfast with Amy ended and we eventually got home. I unwrapped the bagel and was greeted with…peanut-butter-’nana mush.

I think I may have made a mistake letting it sit in the car.

The peanut butter was all sorts of gooey (mental note: asking for a toasted bagel results in changing the viscosity of said peanut butter) and the bananas were plentiful. It was considerably awkward to eat as the bananas kept trying to slip out and the peanut butter would just ooze out from between the bagel whenever you tried to take a bite. The chocolate chip bagel was pretty unrecognizable as its taste was overwhelmed by the other ingredients. The saltiness of the peanut butter was delicately countered by the banana. All in all I give it a grade of a C/C+.

Would it be something that Elvis would have enjoyed? Sure, if it was something that he could eat in bed while watching and shooting his televisions after a cocaine fueled binge. It falls just short of his favorite sandwich (probably due to the lack of bacon) but is infinitely healthier than the other sandwich that is eternally associated with him, the Fool’s Gold Loaf. It is definitely filling and a mouthful but the saltiness needs something else or something more to counteract it. After digesting the thing after a while it made me feel a little heavy and slow, like someone was intentionally filling my blood vessels with Elmer’s glue.

BTW, Ashley, it seems apropos that the sandwich right next would be something known as the Gassman.

And now for a few more Tums…

If anyone is interested: Happy Hour Thursday at The Hamilton #

For the fourth time in two weeks someone has described me as a bulldog #

Sure, @CafeBustelo711 – I can understand if thy we're talking about my personality. They we're talking about my physical build in reply to CafeBustelo711 #

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@PecanCtMichael Ah! I know how you feel. I'm the same way & getting it under control. More exercise with your boys & diet tweaks in reply to PecanCtMichael #

Little Mix' "Wings" is a guilty pleasure Ugh. I think my mind is turning to mush. #

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It may sound strange to people who don’t work in DC that anyone would EVER want to make the trek downtown. For the most part you’re stuck in your car in a seemingly endless traffic jam. If not that then you are at the mercy of WMATA and the Metro; countless broken escalators or a train schedule that’s as reliable as Congress. So why subject myself to this traveling Hell?

I like people.

I know, I know. It seems contradictory to what I say about most humans. Commuting into the city gives me the opportunity to witness what the wide spectrum of humanity is like and appreciate the beauty and absurdity of it all. Mostly the absurdity.

Riding the Metro is like a way for you to judge others so you feel good about yourself. Horrible, isn’t it? You just can’t help it! You see people with their carefully cultivated thousand yard stare who try not to make eye contact with you; people who have no sense of personal space; people who are looking at you as you’re judging them.

One of my favorite type of person to observe is the kind who just doesn’t give a shit. You look and you wonder why they just don’t change (____ fill in the blank ___) about themselves. Before anyone lambasts me and breaks out into Christina Aguilera’s “Beautiful” lets look at the example to the right.

I remember an episode of Ally McBeal where a man refused to deal with his comb over and did something similar.

Buddy, let it go. We can tell you’re balding.

To be continued…