Death, Dogs and Tubesocks

Okay, so went to the funeral yesterday. I took a couple of things from it. My friend has raised a pretty awesome and incredibly strong 14-year old young man who spoke eloquently of his father and displayed the poise and grace of someone much older. Someone I would aspire to be. I also saw an amazing show of faith. People grasp on to all sorts of things to get through. Some of us have one too many drinks at the end of a trying day (no one I know.....cough, cough) some are popping pills, etc. etc. But the faith in God that this family had and the peace it seemingly brought them was food for thought. Personally, I don't see God in the traditional sense. Being raised Catholic and going to Catholic schools kinda left a bad taste in my mouth about the whole deal. Fuck you, Sister Jackie, by the way. What it made me realize was that people that are seeking solace and comfort will find it in any number of places and that "God" means different things to different people. I think God is "Peace". My church is kind of in my head. Which I understand is a very twisted place. But it's MY twisted place. And I'm only as God made me.

In news completely unrelated to death or God or my twisted brain, my dog is a freakin' idiot. We're having a somewhat insane day what with the untimely death/funeral aspect tossed into the mix and running around like the proverbial headless domestic foul and Grady starts whining and running around in circles. Then tosses his kibble. Okay, "DAVE!!!!!! GRADY PUKED" 'cause you KNOW I'm not cleaning that shit up. The paper towels aren't even out of the cupboard before he loses it again on the (ill-advised) zebra rug. He seems fine for a couple of minutes and then that telltale horrible pumping sound starts up again but this time he almost makes it to the door. Dave gets him out and he makes it to the deck. I can tell that this time he has produced something of note and despite my revulsion, it was one of those things you just had to investigate. Um......looking at slimy mass......see "Hanes" written in blue on tube shaped object. IT'S A SOCK. ONE OF MY TEN YEAR OLD SON'S CREW SOCKS. Completely intact. So he had to swallow said article of clothing whole. And I am not making this up. How he didn't choke getting it down I will never know. The fact that no one NOTICED him consuming a SOCK is another matter altogether. Oh, but it gets better. We're thinking he's all relieved having oh, I don't know......coughed up a sock? Noooooo........he starts throwing up again. Of COURSE it's another sock! Because why wouldn't it be? This time it's my sock. Not as bad as it was just a footie. An awfully tasty footie by all accounts because it clearly inspired to go for something larger. He appears to be okay for now but we are wondering what else might be in there.......license plates? Boots? Who knows. I've got a crazy dog. Imagine that.