#YOUR DOG

[fatassdeclanlynch]

LEVELS OF DEVOTION

It Will Come Back by Hozier // Your Dog by Soccer Mommy //  Moon Song by Phoebe Bridgers // Night in the Hills by Jenna Barton // “Little Dog’s Rhapsody in the Night” by Mary Oliver // The Edge of You by Jenna Barton

[pulledrounder]

Mitski, "I'm Your Man" // Donna Haraway, The Companion Species Manifesto: Dogs, People, and Significant Otherness // Andrew Kane, "How to Be a Dog" // // Soccer Mommy, Your Dog // "this is the last time i beg for devotion" by violenttradwife // Anne Carson, Preface to Hekabe from Grief Lessons

[deeps-repus]

Your Dog 2

[di-di-ana]

'Cause I don't wanna be your fucking dog

[breakmyheartwithlyrics]

Soccer Mommy- Your Dog

[sillylittleguytime]

[spaceoutdreamer]

Looking for the nicest way to tell someone to fuck off

[darklordvectre]

Saying that when you think you're muted and you're not is a big oof, but why are you saying that in the first place? Maybe if your partner is a furry, but even then it’s still weird.

But to Your DOG??!!

Stop. Sexualizing. Your. Dogs.

I didn’t think i’d have to say this, but here we are

[wordsbyt]

[astoriachef]

[marypsue]

Keep seeing that post where OP starts like 'Thinking about...grieving the undead' and then adds on about like. Real life situations where people have not died but have left your life and you would have reason to grieve them.

All respect, that's an important concept, but that is not what I am thinking about when I read 'grieving the undead'.

[deeps-repus]

Your Dog

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Hey now, Let her cook!

[spicymancer]

Attention Deficit Hyperactive Dog Girl

[asteroidtroglodyte]

5 years ago, I was in Rehab.

10 years ago, I was watching my Potential and Opportunities dissolve and evaporate in an ocean of cheap gin and expensive whiskey.

But 5 years ago, I was in Rehab.

One of the exercises they had us perform was to imagine ourselves happy, 5 years in the future.

Many of us in that room had forgotten how to imagine nice things happening to them. A few snorted (well, I snorted), finding the notion that we’d even still be around in 5 years grimly humorous.

For about half of us, it was the last stop on the way down.

But I indulged the therapist. I was there, after all, because I did not want to die. So, I imagined myself, 5 years hence.

Happy.

It came to me all at once; an artistic remix on Norman Rockwell’s Freedom From Want, reframed with myself placing food at the table.

Sunday Dinner At My Place, I answered, when it came my turn to share my fantasy. I was asked what food I imagined eating.

It’s not the meal itself, I said, it’s the implications framed around it. Sunday Dinner At My Place means that I have a Place. It means that I have Family that will actually speak to me and friends who actually want to see me. It means money enough not just to feed myself but others too. It means having the time to spare to take the time preparing the meal.

A lot of nodding heads all around me. A struck chord. Many people with no Place, in that place. Nowhere that would lament their leaving.

5 years hence, as I lay down to sleep in my Home, with my Wife and my Son, surrounded by my Art and my Flowers, I reflect.

It was a long road. It was hard. We lost people. So many people. There were long days and long nights and hospital stays. Angry arguments with ghosts. I changed, in ways I never hoped for, or expected. Good ways, finally, for once. Slowly, against the backdrop of a world in chaos, I found my mind.

Sometimes, My Wife wondered aloud, what she did to deserve me. After some stumbling with my feelings, I eventually settled on an answer.

I’m a Rescue.

She gave me a Home.

And, so, I gave her a Family.

It seemed fair

This Sunday, my folks, which whom I have not had a shouting match in years, will come over for dinner. We will cook and eat together. My Friend became My Wife, and she took a piece of me and with it she made Our Son. There will be many hugs, and no violence. Good Things Happened.

I don’t know who needs to hear this, but you don’t know what the future holds.

don’t give up yet, ok?

It could get good, even.