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A hard request to swallow.
12 years ago
The long standing account of the Incorrigible Author
It's one of those days where things just go from annoying to bad to worse. Recently I purchased a house and have begun to suffer through the right of passage called home owning. With that comes a drain on my resources. Working 40 hours a week and writing another 20 to 30 hours when I can is just life. The economic crunch of having a house is to be expected. But what's slowly getting me is my dog's medical bills.
Shar-Pei's are expensive. There is a very good reason they are called Yuppie Puppies. They are not for the faint of heart really. They have skin allergies, most have dietary concerns and still others are allergic to medicines, bee stings and the like. They have a shorter life span than many would expect. The average Shar-Pei lives 6 or 7 years. Mine is ancient. She is 13 or 14 years old and gods willing she'll live another four or five years if I have anything to say about it. Maggie has allergies to medicines, bee stings and now she's been having liver problems. She's been getting older and we've been giving her arthritis medicine to combat joint pains and the like. But two weeks ago we had a mild scare and the doctor gave us a new set of medicines. Today was a new scare.
http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/mait.....57/957_900.png
I had to take Maggie to the vet today for another emergency visit. The second in a month. And needless to say the bills are steep and I hate typing this. Every fiber of my being hates this. But god help me. I need help. I'm asking not for myself but for my responsibility and my best friend Maggie. The hardest thing for me to do is ask for help. I want to do this all on my own. Not to be macho or anything like that but simply because when Maggie came into my home she came into a better place and she became my responsibility. I've always felt that if you claim a dog as your responsibility then you damn well do your job. You make sure your dog gets fed, medicated and treated properly.
Maggie and I have a special bond, as any pet owner can tell you. They are your child, your best friend and closest confidant. They love you unconditionally no matter what you do. Because that's just how they are. And not a day goes by that I don't wonder will a bee sting her and I won't find out about it until after I come home and she's laying on the ground dead because her air ways swelled shut. It's almost happened twice before and it was a horrible feeling for me. To sit and stare at my dog as she struggles to breathe while I'm rushing her to the emergency room, praying to silent deities above that she doesn't die on me.
For my entire life I've had dogs in my family. Even before I could remember them. There are pictures of me as a baby with our chocolate lab, Hersey. A picture of our cocker spaniel, Toby in germany. I remember King my crazy husky licking sun tan lotion off of my sister in Arizona. I remember the little ball of fluff that Cochise, my German Shepard, Coyote and Collie mix was in first grade. I remember the beagle fox terrier mix we rescued from the pound cause they thought Chewy was a cute puppy but an ugly adult and how she died of kidney failure because a vet prescribed the wrong dosage and killed her. How I wanted to find that man and make him suffer as no living being has suffered before for what he did to my dog. I remember the toy poodle that my aunt brought to live with us and when he could no longer see how Cochise would guide him around the backyard and pick him up by the scruff of his neck to get him up stairs. I remember my brother's toy fox terrier Foxx and his tragically short life. I swore I would never have another dog. Cochise broke my heart when I had to put him down. He was suffering so much it just wasn't right. He'd been with me from first grade to sophomore year in college. Fourteen years for a dog his size was impressive. He out lived Chewy and Sebastian the toy poodle. I still think of all my dogs that I've had in my life. There are however only two that I claimed as mine. Cochise and Maggie.
Maggie is a twice removed rescue. My mom saved her from my cousin's idiot husband putting a bullet in her because they were having a divorce. Her name was originally Sissy Girl. I swore I would never call her that. That I'd stand on the back porch of my house and scream "Bitch! Get up here!" first before calling her Sissy Girl. My mom renamed her Maggie after her grandmother. Swore up and down that I didn't want that dog and that as soon as my cousin was done crashing at the house that Maggie would go with her. When my cousin left she didn't take Maggie with her and she became my responsibility. I took care of her and will until she's given up the ghost. Maggie and I share a special bond. When I was laid off from Indiana Business College I drove home angry at myself and mad at the world but most of all feeling like a failure. I'd never been let go before and it stung that such a thing could happen to me. I parked my jeep in the garage, shut the garage door and contemplated suicide. It wasn't the first time I'd thought of it. The first attempt landed me a visit to the ER and a shit ton of charcoal to drink and mandatory visits to a shrink. As I sat with the Jeep running I could hear Maggie at the door whining and scratching at the door. Excited for me to be home, happy that I was there to play with her and give her the belly rubs and playful love taps she'd come to expect from our rough housing. This retelling is already more melodramatic than I like. But Maggie really did save my life. As I shut down the jeep and got out I knew I couldn't leave her behind. That became a year of me spending almost all my waking time with Maggie as I worked on True Blue Alien: Digital Memories. Yira is the personality I think Maggie would have if written out. When I wrote a short story called Bankster's Paradise for a contest the hardest scene in the entire script to write was the main character giving away his faithful dog to a better home. Because he'd been laid off and couldn't afford to take care of his dog and didn't want anything bad to happen to his pet.
So what am I getting at in this long rambling dialogue? That I need help to make sure, at least temporarily, that my dog gets the medicine she needs. She's good now sleeping on the couch as if nothing has happened to her. I hate asking for money so my brother and I are doing something different. The Chronicles of Loth is holding a donation drive. You donate what you can and we'll give you a special, will not be seen except for your email address, five page comic from Loth's younger days.
Just send a donation to proper_fs[at]yahoo.com with the subject Maggie's Medicine and we'll make a list of who all has donated and create the five page comic. Full color just like always and in the quality you've come to expect. But here's the catch. Since moving from Indiana I've been supporting my brother, myself and Maggie on my job. Eric's job has been to draw the comic and that's it. A job he's held up admirably. But will have to come to an end if we can't raise enough to cover Maggie's medical costs. If we don't get enough donates then that means Eric needs to get a full time job and the comic will be going back to a one day a week comic.
Shar-Pei's are expensive. There is a very good reason they are called Yuppie Puppies. They are not for the faint of heart really. They have skin allergies, most have dietary concerns and still others are allergic to medicines, bee stings and the like. They have a shorter life span than many would expect. The average Shar-Pei lives 6 or 7 years. Mine is ancient. She is 13 or 14 years old and gods willing she'll live another four or five years if I have anything to say about it. Maggie has allergies to medicines, bee stings and now she's been having liver problems. She's been getting older and we've been giving her arthritis medicine to combat joint pains and the like. But two weeks ago we had a mild scare and the doctor gave us a new set of medicines. Today was a new scare.
http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/mait.....57/957_900.png
I had to take Maggie to the vet today for another emergency visit. The second in a month. And needless to say the bills are steep and I hate typing this. Every fiber of my being hates this. But god help me. I need help. I'm asking not for myself but for my responsibility and my best friend Maggie. The hardest thing for me to do is ask for help. I want to do this all on my own. Not to be macho or anything like that but simply because when Maggie came into my home she came into a better place and she became my responsibility. I've always felt that if you claim a dog as your responsibility then you damn well do your job. You make sure your dog gets fed, medicated and treated properly.
Maggie and I have a special bond, as any pet owner can tell you. They are your child, your best friend and closest confidant. They love you unconditionally no matter what you do. Because that's just how they are. And not a day goes by that I don't wonder will a bee sting her and I won't find out about it until after I come home and she's laying on the ground dead because her air ways swelled shut. It's almost happened twice before and it was a horrible feeling for me. To sit and stare at my dog as she struggles to breathe while I'm rushing her to the emergency room, praying to silent deities above that she doesn't die on me.
For my entire life I've had dogs in my family. Even before I could remember them. There are pictures of me as a baby with our chocolate lab, Hersey. A picture of our cocker spaniel, Toby in germany. I remember King my crazy husky licking sun tan lotion off of my sister in Arizona. I remember the little ball of fluff that Cochise, my German Shepard, Coyote and Collie mix was in first grade. I remember the beagle fox terrier mix we rescued from the pound cause they thought Chewy was a cute puppy but an ugly adult and how she died of kidney failure because a vet prescribed the wrong dosage and killed her. How I wanted to find that man and make him suffer as no living being has suffered before for what he did to my dog. I remember the toy poodle that my aunt brought to live with us and when he could no longer see how Cochise would guide him around the backyard and pick him up by the scruff of his neck to get him up stairs. I remember my brother's toy fox terrier Foxx and his tragically short life. I swore I would never have another dog. Cochise broke my heart when I had to put him down. He was suffering so much it just wasn't right. He'd been with me from first grade to sophomore year in college. Fourteen years for a dog his size was impressive. He out lived Chewy and Sebastian the toy poodle. I still think of all my dogs that I've had in my life. There are however only two that I claimed as mine. Cochise and Maggie.
Maggie is a twice removed rescue. My mom saved her from my cousin's idiot husband putting a bullet in her because they were having a divorce. Her name was originally Sissy Girl. I swore I would never call her that. That I'd stand on the back porch of my house and scream "Bitch! Get up here!" first before calling her Sissy Girl. My mom renamed her Maggie after her grandmother. Swore up and down that I didn't want that dog and that as soon as my cousin was done crashing at the house that Maggie would go with her. When my cousin left she didn't take Maggie with her and she became my responsibility. I took care of her and will until she's given up the ghost. Maggie and I share a special bond. When I was laid off from Indiana Business College I drove home angry at myself and mad at the world but most of all feeling like a failure. I'd never been let go before and it stung that such a thing could happen to me. I parked my jeep in the garage, shut the garage door and contemplated suicide. It wasn't the first time I'd thought of it. The first attempt landed me a visit to the ER and a shit ton of charcoal to drink and mandatory visits to a shrink. As I sat with the Jeep running I could hear Maggie at the door whining and scratching at the door. Excited for me to be home, happy that I was there to play with her and give her the belly rubs and playful love taps she'd come to expect from our rough housing. This retelling is already more melodramatic than I like. But Maggie really did save my life. As I shut down the jeep and got out I knew I couldn't leave her behind. That became a year of me spending almost all my waking time with Maggie as I worked on True Blue Alien: Digital Memories. Yira is the personality I think Maggie would have if written out. When I wrote a short story called Bankster's Paradise for a contest the hardest scene in the entire script to write was the main character giving away his faithful dog to a better home. Because he'd been laid off and couldn't afford to take care of his dog and didn't want anything bad to happen to his pet.
So what am I getting at in this long rambling dialogue? That I need help to make sure, at least temporarily, that my dog gets the medicine she needs. She's good now sleeping on the couch as if nothing has happened to her. I hate asking for money so my brother and I are doing something different. The Chronicles of Loth is holding a donation drive. You donate what you can and we'll give you a special, will not be seen except for your email address, five page comic from Loth's younger days.
Just send a donation to proper_fs[at]yahoo.com with the subject Maggie's Medicine and we'll make a list of who all has donated and create the five page comic. Full color just like always and in the quality you've come to expect. But here's the catch. Since moving from Indiana I've been supporting my brother, myself and Maggie on my job. Eric's job has been to draw the comic and that's it. A job he's held up admirably. But will have to come to an end if we can't raise enough to cover Maggie's medical costs. If we don't get enough donates then that means Eric needs to get a full time job and the comic will be going back to a one day a week comic.
