I am sort of reading Roger Ebert’s memoir right now. This radio show I listen to was talking about it and I thought it could be interesting reading a book written by a person who knows he doesn’t have long to live. I have skipped a lot of chapters because much of the material does not suit my taste but there was this one chapter that hit home with me. The following pictures are from his book, Life Itself.
Coincidentally, I also had a dog named Blackie when I was a teenager. Maybe it is not a coincidence though if a lot of people name their dog Blackie. I had just moved back in with my mother and I guess I asked for a dog. I remember that I really wanted one. We went to the local dog shelter and for whatever reason I chose Blackie.
Blackie wasn’t trained very well. In the first couple days we had him, he chewed up my new shoes and also ate all the muffins that were on the kitchen counter. The dog loved me though. Blackie was so happy to have a home. There was one big issue though. Blackie did not like my mother or anyone else really. He would growl at her and it obviously made my mother uncomfortable.
I went out one day with my friends. I stayed the night at one of my friends because I now lived a few suburbs away. When I arrived home, Blackie was gone. They took him back to the dog pound while I was away. I cried that night. All I had left from the dog was his scent on my bedroom carpet. I am not sure if I had the dog for even a week.
People always tell me it is okay to leave a dog at home for 9 hours by itself while you are away at work. I just don’t agree, not 5 days of the week anyway. So I guess until I stop working full time, I am not getting a dog.