There was another dog at the dog park named Honey. I haven’t seen her in a while, but we grew up together. We didn’t always see eye-to-eye. We might have exchanged words a few times. I think in the end she and I had an understanding, though. And it was this: I definitely had the more shrill, banshee-like bark.

Anyway, she left us early, that Honey. And this was her bowl. It’s now mine, thanks to her humans.

It kind of tears me up, the losing of the Other Honey. I mean, we were close in age, and so it’s got me looking at my life: What the hell have I done? I mean, really? Killed a squirrel or two? A groundhog? Is that all I’m here for? I had all these dreams when I was younger: That I’d be queen of a small fortress guarded by horses and I’d keep all my bones there. That I’d finally catch one of those squirrels called a “Deer.”

On the other hand…

I have peed on so many spots. I have taken so many rides. I have licked so many ears. I have eaten so much chicken jerky. I have barked at so many Rothkos.

But is it enough? Shouldn’t I do more?

Am I awake? Have I slept?

Holy Christ.


One thing I know for sure… whatever else happens… whatever I do or don’t achieve in life…

I’ve got this bowl, bitches. I’ve got this bowl with my motherfucking name on it…