A story I shared with my kids. Got it off reddit years ago and no longer remember the name of the redditor who posted it (apologies if you're out there!).
--- STORY TIME (I will cry again as I format it for Lemmy (I will cry every fucking time I read it)) ---
The last thing I remember is My Person bringing my to the Sharp Place.
I never understood why My Person would bring me to the Sharp Place. The smells were sharp, and they poked me with sharp things. That's why I called it the Sharp Place. It was a bad place. I didn't like it.
I don't know why My Person brought me there, that day of all days. I already hadn't been feeling good. I'd been throwing up, and my hips hurt and my paws hurt. Even eating grass didn't help. And then My Person brought me to the Sharp Place. I tried to be mad at him, but he seemed so sad about something, so I tried to wag my tail to cheer him up. I didn't even really notice when the Sharp Man poked me.
Then my eyes got heavy and that was the last thing I remember.
Buddy, a voice said. Buddy, wake up.
I opened my eyes and got to my feet, and I realized my paws didn't hurt anymore. I tried a wag, and that was fine, too. I sniffed the air. It smelled like the Play Park and like Our Home and the Car Window. I liked it a lot.
Welcome, Buddy, came the voice again, from behind me.
I turned around, and there was a person there. He wasn't My Person, but he was all safe and good smells, so I trusted him.
Where am I? I said.
You're in the place that Good Boys go, the person said.
I was a Good Boy? I said.
You were a Very Good Boy, he told me.
That was good. I always tried to be a Good Boy. Where's My Person? I asked.
He's still down there, the person said. And he waved his arm and all of a sudden we were in Our Home, and My Person was sitting on the Forbidden Chair and looking sad. Every so often, he'd look over at the Okay Couch, where I was allowed so sit, and his breath would catch because he was very sad. I tried to nuzzle him, but my nose just passed through his hand.
What's happening? I don't understand, I said.
The person sighed. You can't be with him right now, Buddy. I'm sorry. It's the way of things.
I thought about this. So it's like My Person is on the Person Bed, and I'm not allowed there? I said.
Exactly like that, the person said. But he can be with you someday. If you choose to wait for him.
Of course I want to wait for him! I said. Not wait for My Person? Who did this person think he was talking to?
Hold on, Buddy, the person said. He seemed sad about this for some reason. It's not that simple. You have a choice. He got down on one knee and he looked into my eyes. There are bad things in this world, Buddy. Very bad things.
Like Neighbor Cat?
So much worse than her, Buddy. He waved his hand, and I saw what he was talking about. He showed me dark things, that were like snakes and rats, only worse. Worse than the Sucking Machine. Worse than the Sharp Place. They smelled evil.
These are the things that want to hurt him, Buddy. They want to hurt everybody. So you can wait for him, or you can keep him safe. But if you choose to keep him safe, then you can't see him again.
What, never? I said.
The person nodded. Never, Buddy. I'm sorry. Those are the Rules. It's a terrible choice.
I looked at my paws. I didn't want to not see My Person ever again. But I wanted to keep him safe even more.
I know what I have to do, I said, and the person waved his hand, and all of a sudden we were in a place with as many dogs as I have every seen before. More, even.
These are all the Good Boys who chose to keep Their People safe, the person said.
I looked at them all. I couldn't believe it, still. But there's so many of us! I said. How many Good Boys are here?
The person looked down at me. He smiled, but I could tell he was also partly very sad. All of you, Buddy. Every single one.
I was a fan of Alabama 3 back in the late 90s. Small band, in the UK. I used to go to as many of their gigs as I could, usually in small clubs, pubs, side-stages at festivals. They released this fantastic album: 'Exile on Coldharbour Lane' (which is still on my rotation a quarter of a century later). Hoping they do well, because they're awesome.
Then I got a contract gig in early 2000, in the US. Started figuring out US TV. There's this new show, called the Sopranos which I've heard good things about. Put it on. Fucking hell, that opening theme tune! It's the same band i used to see in venues that could barely hold 50 people! Mind blown, but so happy that they'll have earned a shitton of money!
Yup. Everything from the guy who built an Ikea wardrobe for me when my back was out to the guys who built our extension. Personal recommendations and not going with the cheapest quote seem to work for me.
Bloodywood - Gaddaar because it absolutely slaps, or maybe Sardaar Ji because I can't hear it without thinking of this Bhangra group and they make me smile.
Lots of Central / Latin American modern stuff as well like Donde Nací by Orishas, which is also a feel good kind of sound.
I read somewhere that a parent's job in life was to make themselves unecessary to their children.
Parent does everything for a baby, but as the child gets older a parent teaches them to do more and more stuff for themselves: getting dressed, tying shoelaces, reading, good study habits, time management, relationships, cooking, good financial practice, etc. Eventually the parent has nothing left to teach the child and is no longer necessary (though hopefully their company is still appreciated). That would be the point at which the child becomes an adult.
Given how much it seems to matter to you that fish head soup is a thing because you found it in a book, I retract my entire 'point and argument'. It's clearly as British as red double decker buses, fish and chips, self-deprecation, a vague sense of unease at our politicians behaving as if our country is in some way still important, kilts, Cornish pasties, lava bread and cockles, and an Ulster fry. You obviously know more about British food than I do, and are expert in all things and definitely not. to. be. trifled with. whereas I have probably never eaten food in my entire life. You've won a disagreement on the internet and will be able to feel powerful and vital for the rest of your day.
Peas are a shit vegetable and only get used a lot because they're easy to freeze and just throw into a meal at the last moment. But they pollute the whole dish with their noxious flavor.
I've never once eaten fish head soup, or been offered fish head soup, or seen fish head soup on a menu, or heard of any of my friends eating fish head soup. I'm, therefore, not convinced it's 'British food'. Does it come with gaslight sauce?
A story I shared with my kids. Got it off reddit years ago and no longer remember the name of the redditor who posted it (apologies if you're out there!).
--- STORY TIME (I will cry again as I format it for Lemmy (I will cry every fucking time I read it)) ---
The last thing I remember is My Person bringing my to the Sharp Place.
I never understood why My Person would bring me to the Sharp Place. The smells were sharp, and they poked me with sharp things. That's why I called it the Sharp Place. It was a bad place. I didn't like it.
I don't know why My Person brought me there, that day of all days. I already hadn't been feeling good. I'd been throwing up, and my hips hurt and my paws hurt. Even eating grass didn't help. And then My Person brought me to the Sharp Place. I tried to be mad at him, but he seemed so sad about something, so I tried to wag my tail to cheer him up. I didn't even really notice when the Sharp Man poked me.
Then my eyes got heavy and that was the last thing I remember.
Buddy, a voice said. Buddy, wake up.
I opened my eyes and got to my feet, and I realized my paws didn't hurt anymore. I tried a wag, and that was fine, too. I sniffed the air. It smelled like the Play Park and like Our Home and the Car Window. I liked it a lot.
Welcome, Buddy, came the voice again, from behind me.
I turned around, and there was a person there. He wasn't My Person, but he was all safe and good smells, so I trusted him.
Where am I? I said.
You're in the place that Good Boys go, the person said.
I was a Good Boy? I said.
You were a Very Good Boy, he told me.
That was good. I always tried to be a Good Boy. Where's My Person? I asked.
He's still down there, the person said. And he waved his arm and all of a sudden we were in Our Home, and My Person was sitting on the Forbidden Chair and looking sad. Every so often, he'd look over at the Okay Couch, where I was allowed so sit, and his breath would catch because he was very sad. I tried to nuzzle him, but my nose just passed through his hand.
What's happening? I don't understand, I said.
The person sighed. You can't be with him right now, Buddy. I'm sorry. It's the way of things.
I thought about this. So it's like My Person is on the Person Bed, and I'm not allowed there? I said.
Exactly like that, the person said. But he can be with you someday. If you choose to wait for him.
Of course I want to wait for him! I said. Not wait for My Person? Who did this person think he was talking to?
Hold on, Buddy, the person said. He seemed sad about this for some reason. It's not that simple. You have a choice. He got down on one knee and he looked into my eyes. There are bad things in this world, Buddy. Very bad things.
Like Neighbor Cat?
So much worse than her, Buddy. He waved his hand, and I saw what he was talking about. He showed me dark things, that were like snakes and rats, only worse. Worse than the Sucking Machine. Worse than the Sharp Place. They smelled evil.
These are the things that want to hurt him, Buddy. They want to hurt everybody. So you can wait for him, or you can keep him safe. But if you choose to keep him safe, then you can't see him again.
What, never? I said.
The person nodded. Never, Buddy. I'm sorry. Those are the Rules. It's a terrible choice.
I looked at my paws. I didn't want to not see My Person ever again. But I wanted to keep him safe even more.
I know what I have to do, I said, and the person waved his hand, and all of a sudden we were in a place with as many dogs as I have every seen before. More, even.
These are all the Good Boys who chose to keep Their People safe, the person said.
I looked at them all. I couldn't believe it, still. But there's so many of us! I said. How many Good Boys are here?
The person looked down at me. He smiled, but I could tell he was also partly very sad. All of you, Buddy. Every single one.