Daily Archives: July 31, 2009

Earlier this year the father of a friend of ours rescued/adopted an all black Lab mix that he named Chelsea. Nobody knew her history or how she had ended up abandoned at the SPCA with the clock ticking.

Anyway, he brought her home and she was the happiest dog ever and then a short time later he died suddenly.

Chelsea was left alone again facing a return to the cage at the SPCA.

Then, some other friends of ours and also a mutual friend of the woman whose father had died decided that they would “adopt” Chelsea. They had been talking about getting a dog and Chelsea needed a home and they fit together perfectly.

Once again Chelsea had found a home and happiness with owners she loved.

Chelsea’s owners were supposed to drop her off with us this weekend while they attended a family reunion but we got a call Thursday morning saying that Chelsea was at the vet. Her stomach had turned and they were going to have to operate. We told them to give their vet our cell numbers and we would pick up Chelsea when she was ready to come home.

Miss Carol just received a text message informing us that Chelsea passed away early this morning.

Ya know.

I’m glad that the final few months of Chelsea’s short life were happy and I wish it could have been longer for both hers’ and our friends’ sakes.

But what really bothers me most is the thought that, what if she woke up after her surgery, in a cage again, with no one there again, and just gave up.

I hope she knew how much she was loved.

We’ll miss you Chelsea.

This weekend, on Sunday, we drove down to the Outer Banks to visit some of Miss Carol’s family who were vacationing there. It’s always great seeing family and catching up with everybody and blah, blah, blablabladeblah ’cause family stuff is family stuff and really, honestly, who else cares?

The thing that always chafes me, though, the sand in my ointment, the burr in my saddle, is that for twenty four hours I become a touron. I morph twice each year, once when we visit Miss Carol’s vacationing family and once when we visit mine.

Each time as I drive the hour and half from our beach to their beach, I can feel my Mr. Coolness Beach Dude oozing out of me and the touroness creeping in.

By the time we hit the NC border I’m wanting to buy anything and everything stamped with OBX. Especially if it’s fluorescent. Oh yeah.

I’m wanting to drink beer while I drive and fling the empties out the window. WTF, mutha’s, I’m on vacation and I’m firin’ on all eight cylinders so ya just better watch out.

But what I don’t see are the locals workin’ at the Brew Thru when we stop for beer and ice and what I fail to feel is the vibe that screams Dude. You’re. Just. Another. Touron. when we gas up at the Wee Winks.

Because I’ve become one of THEM.

And I worry sometimes that maybe I won’t re-emerge, that maybe the touroness will stick to me like a fart in an elevator.

Maybe I shouldn’t never leave home.