Sunday, December 22, 2013

W is for Water

I've told you before that Ex's dog came to live with us when we got married. She had been at his mom's house for years, but Ex's mom was glad to get rid of her as soon as possible. I loved this dog. She was seventeen, arthritic, diabetic, going blind and deaf, and just the nicest dog ever. She was my best friend while I was married to Ex. She needed someone to take good care of her and I needed someone to love me. Ex didn't do either, so she and I took care of each other.
Ex and I went to the lake one summer afternoon and took her with us. She needs a name. Her real name was stupid. Ex's friend's girlfriend's name. Shante. SO, Shante was happy to be at the beach and was having a good time wading in the water with me. Neither one of us ventured in very far. I didn't because I couldn't swim, and she didn't because she was old.

Then stupid Ex decided she needed to swim like she used to when he was a teenager. He came charging up, grabbed her collar, and began dragging her into deep water. She got a panicked look on her face and began feebly paddling. Stupid Ex (that's all I can call him for this post. Stupid Ex.) was holding on to her collar and making her paddle in circles.
He got really (!) mad at me when I saved her. He yelled at me all the way home about that one, telling me that she loved to swim and that I was an idiot for not letting her. Then he stopped speaking to me for a few days. I rarely stood up to Ex, but Shante was my friend and she needed help, so I helped her. I kind of hate him right now.

If I'm not crying, why are my eyes wet?

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Don't make me talk to myself, yo.

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