Finding Z

Finding Z

April 15, Tax Day, has a specific special meaning for me, which has nothing to do with taxes, the IRS or anything April 15 is normally associated with.

On April 15, 2009, about a year before my father died, my mother and I went for a walk in our neighborhood. Not an unusual act for us. It was about noon and we went different way than normal. As we were walking down a less traveled road, this tiny little puppy came running out from under a white truck parked on the street.

The little pup, black and white, with one eye completely black, jumped up at me, I caught her and she started licking my face, and placed her paws around my neck. It was like the little girl was hugging me. I was caught off, didn’t know what to do, so I just held her until she decided she wanted me to put her down.

She ran back over to the house the truck was parked in front of. My mom and I talked to the guy who lived there, thinking she was his dog. She wasn’t. He found her sleeping outside his front door that morning and gave her some food.

Thinking nothing more of it, my mom and I continued on our walk. It wasn’t too long before we heard steps behind us, looking back there was the little girl running after us. As we continued to walk, she followed us, tongue hanging out and tail wagging.

She jumped all around us, all happy. Not knowing if she belong to someone or was a stray, we let her follow us. Then she took off. She saw a small dog and chased it down the road out of sight. I was a little said, but figured she belonged to someone and would make her way home.

A couple of minutes later, there was a loud noise and bark from behind us. I turned and the little girl came running up to me and jumped into my arms again. This time, she put her head into my chest and fell asleep. Literally, she fell asleep in my arms.

I carried the tiny, few weeks old Zoie all the way home.

We took her to the vet, but she had no chip or anything to identify the owner. We put up signs and went around the neighborhood, no one owned her.

So, guess what, we kept her.

And it’s a good thing we did, for she became my little Angel. Just under 5 years later, January 29, 2014, it was Zoie who found me when I collapse and got help.

And here she is today.

Ace.

WHITE SHIRT . . . BLACK . . .

Do you want something funny? I have something funny for you. You’ll love it. Really.

It involves, me, a white shirt and a baby pit bull.

This is a TRUE STORY I call

WHITE SHIRT . . . BLACK . . .

Up until two years ago I had a beautiful pit bull named Lady. Who really thought she was royalty. She died two months after I got out of the hospital at 11 years old. She was a great dog, a great friend and never left my side during my recovery.

This is the story of her as a little baby, and how she marked me as her territory.

I used to work at a Social Security payee office, handling funds for mentally ill and homeless people on SSI. One of my co-worker was a licensed pit bull dog breeder, who breed pure breed pit bulls for shows. In fact my Lady was registered with the Kennel Club of London.

Well, one day one she went home to find that one of her dogs was pregnant, an unplanned pregnancy as well. The dog gave birth to seven puppies. Unfortunately the mother died the next day due to complications and two puppies still born inside her.

Since the mother died and this was unplanned my co-worker brought the little angles into our small seven-person office and we all took turns caring for the puppies. I spent six weeks everyday day doing my job, while carrying around little puppies and feeding them with bottles.

She asked me if I wanted one of the puppies, and I jumped at it. Because my dad was Air Force, I never had a dog growing up, we moved around too much. I chose the one I had first started feeding and named him Max.

He died two days later due to an infection in his duclaw.

Heartbroken, I decided not to take one of the puppies.

I still cared for them though, and loved them.

Then one morning I came to work wearing a brand new, pure bright white t-shirt. I picked up a little puppy that would become Lady, cradled her and started feeding her. I held her to my chest while walking to the break room to get a drink when I felt this warm sensation down my chest.

I look down, saw little Lady, whose eyes weren’t even open yet, sucking on the bottle. I lift her up . . .

The little girl had POOPED all over my shirt.

I had Lady’s poop running down my shirt. She went to the bathroom on me while I was feeding her!

I handing her off to one of my co-workers and rushed to the bathroom. The shirt was totaled, but I preceded to scrub my chest down with some and water. Yes, I know it was a pup, but it was still feces. For the rest of the day I ended up wearing a size to small shirt from our in house donations.

Lady marked me for life.

A few day later, I was feeding her again when she finally opened her eyes. When she hit six weeks, I took the little shit home.

Ace.

It’s not Fair That You Get So Many Incentive Comics

This TRUE STORY is probably going to make me look bad in the eyes of some. Even though I was the one on the receiving end of a verbal assault from out of nowhere, what I said back to this person people seem to have a problem with.

This happened back in November, around 10A.M on a Wednesday morning. How do I know this exactly? Because I do the same thing every Wednesday morning from 9-10 A.M. I visit my local comic shop and get my weekly comics. I also get the Incentive Limited Covers for the titles I collect. I only get the Incentive for titles I read.

Some weeks, the Incentives are plentiful.

That morning there was a gentleman in the store, talking about how he wished he could afford the Incentives. 

I hung around for a while as I usually do, then checked out and walked to my car, box of comics in my hands. I placed the box on my passengers’ side seat, turned to close the door when I found the gentlemen from in the store moment ago standing behind me.

He said, “You should let other people get some of those incentives.”

I had no idea who this guys was. I had never seen him in the store before. I’ve never seen him since. I told him, “I can buy whatever I want to buy.”

He seemed really pissed, especially for a guy who moments before was bemoaning that he didn’t have enough money to by the Incentives on a regular basis. He seemed to be upset that I bought/do buy the Incentive Cover Comics that I want.

He spouted out with venom, “It’s not fair they allow you to buy so many Incentives.”

“It’s not fair you’re allowed to breathe valuable air,” I spat back.

He didn’t say anything. The anger slipped from his face and he now looked like a child who had his favorite toy taken away. He slithered away, dejected, and I have never seen him again.

Make no mistake, this guy got into my face. He came up on me from behind, so close to me I couldn’t even move out to close my car door. So close, our noses were practically touching. He came after me, I cut him down.

I have told a few people this story, and almost all of them get upset with me, that I wasn’t fair to this guy. That what I said was wrong.

Hey, you get into my face like this, you get what you deserve. Someone gets into anyone’s face like this, that someone gets what they deserve.

Ace