mugsy and mishi

Page Eighteen                                (copy)

sehnen posted on May 02, 2008 | views: 78 | Tags: alpha and betax

friday 2 may 2008  greenfield                                 

        mugsy at age 14, sound asleep when the flash from the camera made his eyes open only slightly

This day, a day that wanders between being the last Friday of April and the first Friday of May, was very special for me two years in a row, and I remember those two Fridays, honor them, today. On Friday 1 May 1998, a very special dog came into my life, and on Friday 30 April one year later, I found a place where I could have a dog, and thus spring him from the boarding kennel he was living in. That day that I liberated him from seven months of confinement was one of the happiest days of my life, and of his too. Mugsy. A silly name, but I didn’t give it to him. He’d had it for eight years, and though I considered changing it to Murphy, in the end I let it alone. He was not one of the fourteen animals obliterated by the gentle care and assistance of the DMH (he had already died by then), but the other male of male of my dog pack was. When I brought Mugsy home from jail nine years ago, there was another male already living in the apartment, and that was Mishi. Alpha dog (Mugsy) and beta dog (Mishi) loved each other deeply for the next seven and a half years.

Hey, Mugs, wherever your indestructible energy went when you died, tell it to find a way to tell me what they did to our Mishi. I’m sure they must have killed him, but who did it, and where, and when?

I love you both, my excellent boys, as big as the sky. Until the humans finally kill me too, with the inexpressible stress their behavior loads on me, I’m always your Mommy, always your best friend.

My usual reminder: keep whatever and whomever you love away from the Department of Mental Hell.



mishi at 10 and a half, shortly before he was taken. mugsy had died a year and a half earlier, separating my alpha and beta buddies for good

update 27 may 2009:  This May is rapidly leaving, while I’m only just getting started updating the posts of May last year. I hope some of you have come back to the beginning to read the updates. As I’ve said, now that I write with the edge taken off the emotions, with my spirit and my hope gone, I can explain things now that I couldn’t explain before when I was so tense, afraid, confused, and angry at what had been done to my life. Now I have no life, nothing that I consider to be a life. I am a shell that’s been robotized by pills for anxiety and celexa for depression. All of this because the pain of the delayed grief is so great I can’t fall asleep or function even a little without the pills. But last May, when I first wrote here, everything was raw and new and devastating, and Matthew Lacoy’s words hadn’t yet been spoken. He was around me, though, he and his cronies, from the day I came to Greenfield on March 12, 2008.


read…     Mugsy’s book…    Stolen stars

Share    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~    website 

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